w^. 


^n 


A     BOOK 


New  England  Legends 

AND 

Folk    Lore 

lit  Progc  anb  poetrg 


SAMUEL  ADAMS   DRAKE 

AUTHOR  OF  "  NOOKS  AND  CORNERS  OF  THE  NEW  ENGLAND  COAST,' 
"old  LANDMARKS  OF  BOSTON,"  ETC 


ILLUSTRATED    BY  F.    T.   MERRILL 


BOSTON 

ROBERTS     BROTHERS 

1884 


Copyright,   1883, 
By  Samuel  Adams  Drake. 


Camfiritige : 

PRINTED    BV    JOHN   WILSON    AND   SON, 
UNIVERSITY    PRESS. 


INTRODUCTION. 


THE  recovery  of  many  scattered  legendary  waifs  that  not 
only  have  a  really  injportant  bearing  upon  the  early  history 
of  our  country,  but  that  also  shed  much  light  upon  the  spirit  of 
its  ancient  laws  and  upon  the  domestic  lives  of  its  peop>le,  has 
seemed  to  me  a  laudable  undertaking.  This  purpose  has  now 
taken  form  in  the  following  collection  of  J^ew-Englaud  Legends. 

As  in  a  majority  of  instances  these  tales  go  far  beyond  the 
time  when  the  interior  was  settled,  they  naturally  cluster  about 
the  seaboard ;  and  it  would  scarcely  be  overstepping  the  limit 
separating  exaggeration  from  truth  to  say  that  every  league  of 
the  New-England  coast  has  its  story  or  its  legend. 

Disowned  in  an  age  of  scepticism,  there  was  once  —  and 
the  time  is  not  so  far  remote  —  no  part  of  the  body  politic  over 
which  what  we  now  vaguely  term  the  legendary  did  not  exer- 
cise the  strongest  influence  ;  so  that,  far  from  being  merely  a 
record  of  amusing  fables,  these  tales,  which  are  largely  founded 
on  fact,  disclose  the  secret  springs  by  which  society  was  moved 
and  history  made.  One  looks  beneath  every  mechanical  con- 
trivance for  tlie  true  origin  of  power.  That  is  to  assume  that 
the  beliefs  of  a  people  are  the  key  to  its  social  and  political 
movements,  and  that  history,  taken  in  its  broadest  sense,  cannot 
be  truly  written  without  having  regard  to  such  beliefs.  Had 
the  conviction  that  witches  existed  not  been  universal,  public 
sentiment  would  never  have  countenanced  the  executions  that 
took  place  in  New  England. 

272584 


VI  INTRODUCTION. 

It  may  be  said,  then,  that  while  History  has  its  truth,  the 
Legend  has  its  own ;  both  taking  for  their  end  tlie  portrayal 
of  Man  as  he  has  existed  in  every  age,  —  a  creature  in  whom 
the  imagination  is  supreme,  and  who  performs  deeds  terrible 
or  heroic  according  as  it  may  be  aroused  into  action. 

No  apology  need  be  made  for  the  prevalence  of  superstition 
among  our  ancestors.  Our  century  is  not  the  judge  of  its  prede- 
cessors. It  was  a  superstitious  age.  King  Charles  I.  inherited 
all  the  popular  beliefs.  He  kept,  as  an  attache  of  his  court,  an 
astrologer,  whom  he  was  accustomed  to  consult  before  enter- 
ing upon  any  important  or  hazardous  undertaking.  Laud,  the 
highest  prelate  in  England,  the  implacable  persecutor  of  our 
Puritan  ancestors,  was  a  man  haunted  by  the  fear  of  omens. 
Indeed  the  most  exalted  personages  in  Church  and  State  yielded 
full  credence  to  all  those  marvels,  the  bare  mention  of  which 
now  calls  up  a  smile  of  incredulity  or  of  pity.  New  England 
was  the  child  of  a  superstitious  mother. 

Since  the  assertion  is  so  often  made  that  this  is  a  practical 
age,  owing  no  allegiance  whatever  to  the  degrading  thraldom  of 
ancient  superstition,  but  coldly  rejecting  everything  that  cannot 
be  fully  accounted  for  upon  rational  grounds,  I  have  thought 
it  worth  while  to  cite  a  few  of  those  popular  beliefs  whicli 
neither  the  sceptical  tendencies  of  the  age  we  live  in,  nor  its 
wonder-working  achievements,  have  been  able  to  eradicate.  Tliey 
belong  exclusively  to  no  class,  and  have  been  transmitted  from 
generation  to  generation  through  the  medium  of  an  unwritten 
language,  to  which  the  natural  impulse  of  the  human  mind 
toward  the  supernatural  is  the  common  interpreter.  Wliile 
religion  itself  works  through  this  mysterious  channel  of  the 
Unknown  and  the  Unseen,  one  need  not  stop  to  argue  a  foct 
that  has  such  high  sanction.  So  long  as  these  beliefs  shall 
continue  to  exert  a  control  over  the  every-day  actions  of  n)en, 
it  would  be  useless  to  deny  to  them  a  place  in  the  movements 
regulating  society;  and  so  long  as  the  twin  mysteries  of  life 
and  death  confront  us  with  tlieir  unsolved  problems,  it  is 
certain  tliat  where  reason  cannot  pass  beyond,  tin-  imagination 


INTRODUCTION.  vii 

will  still  strive  to  penetrate  within,  the  barrier  separating  x;s 
from  the  invisible  world.  This  invisible  world  is  the  realm  of 
the  supernatural. 

You  will  seldom  see  a  man  so  much  in  a  hurry  that  he  will 
not  stop  to  pick  up  a  horseshoe.  One  sees  this  ancient  charm 
against  evil  spirits  in  every  household.  In  fact  this  piece  of 
bent  iron  has  become  the  popular  symbol  for  good  luck.  Throw- 
ing an  old  shoe  after  a  departing  friend  is  as  common  a  practice 
to-day  as  it  ever  was.  Very  few  maidens  neglect  the  opportu- 
nity to  get  a  peep  at  the  new  moon  over  the  right  shoulder ; 
and  the  old  couplet,  — 

See  the  moon  through  the  glass. 
You  '11  have  trouble  while  it  lasts,  — 

is  still  extant.  I  know  people  who  could  not  be  induced  to  sit 
with  thirteen  at  the  table,  who  consider  spilling  the  salt  as 
unlucky,  and  who  put  faith  in  dreams ! 

With  Catholics  the  belief  in  the  efficacy  of  charms  and  of  relics 
is  a  part  of  their  religion.  It  is  not  long  since  a  person  adver- 
tised in  a  public  journal  for  a  caul;  while  among  ignorant  people 
charms  against  sickness,  or  drowning,  or  evil  spirits  are  still  much 
worn.  But  their  use  is  not  wholly  confined  to  this  class ;  for  I 
have  myself  known  intelligent  men  who  were  in  the  habit  of 
carrying  a  potato  in  their  pocket,  or  of  wearing  a  horse-chestnut 
suspended  from  the  neck,  as  a  cure  for  the  rheumatism. 

Sailors  retain  unimpaired  most  of  their  old  superstitions  con- 
cerning things  lucky  or  unlucky.  Farmers  are  invariably  a 
superstitious  folk,  —  at  least  in  those  places  where  they  have 
lived  from  generation  to  generation.  The  pretty  and  touching 
custom  of  telling  the  bees  of  a  death  in  the  family  is,  as  I  have 
reason  to  know,  a  practice  still  adhered  to  in  some  parts  of  the 
country.  The  familiar  legend  of  the  hedgehog  remains  a  trusted 
indication  of  an  early  or  a  late  spring.  Farmers  have  many  super- 
stitions that  have  been  domesticated  among  them  for  centuries. 
For  instance,  it  is  a  common  belief  that  if  a  creature  loses  its 
cud  the  animal  will  die  unless  one  is  obtained  for  it  by  dividing 


viii  INTRODUCTION. 

the  cud  of  another  beast.  A  sick  cow  will  recover  by  having  a 
live  frog  pass  through  her ;  but  the  frog  must  be  living,  or  the 
charm  will  not  work.  If  a  dog  is  seen  eating  grass,  it  is  a  sign 
of  wet  weather ;  so  it  is  if  the  grass  is  spotted  with  what  is  vul- 
garly" called  frogs'  spittle.  The  girls  believe  that  if  you  can  form 
a  wish  while  a  meteor  is  falling,  the  wish  will  be  fulfilled ;  they 
will  not  pluck  the  common  red  field-lily,  for  fear  it  will  make 
them  become  freckled.  In  the  country  there  are  still  found  persons 
plying  the  trade  of  fortune-telling,  while  the  number  of  haunted 
houses  is  notably  increasing.  The  "  lucky-bone  "  of  a  codfish  and 
the  "  wishing-bone  "  of  a  chicken  are  things  of  wide  repute. 

Plants  and  flowers  —  those  beautiful  emblems  of  immortality 
—  have  from  immemorial  time  possessed  their  peculiar  attributes 
or  virtues.  There  are  the  mystic  plants,  and  there  are  the 
symbolical  ones,  like  the  evergreens  used  in  church-decoration 
and  in  cemeteries.  Where  is  the  maiden  who  has  not  diligently 
searched  up  and  down  the  fields  for  the  bashful  four-leaved 
clover  1  How  many  books  enclose  within  their  leaves  this 
little  token  of  some  unspoken  wish  !  The  oracle  of  the  Mar- 
guerite in  Goethe's  "  Faust,"  — 

II  m'aime ; 

II  m'aime  beaucoup ; 

A  la  folia ; 

Pas  du  tout,  — 

may  oftener  be  consulted  to-day  than  many  a  fair  questioner  of 
Fate  would  be  willing  to  admit.  Let  those  who  will,  say  that 
all  this  is  less  than  nothing ;  yet  I  much  doubt  if  the  saying 
will  bring  conviction  to  the  heart  of  womankind. 

Precious  stones  continue  to  hold  in  the  popular  mind  some- 
thing of  their  old  power  to  work  good  or  evil  to  the  wearer. 
A  dealer  in  gems  tells  me  that  the  sale  of  certain  stones  is  mate- 
rially affected  by  the  superstitions  concerning  them.  It  will 
be  seen  that  some  of  these  superstitions  attach  to  the  most  im- 
portant concerns  of  life.  My  friend  the  dealer,  who  is  quite 
as  well  versed  in  his  calling  as  Mr.  Isaacs  was,  says  that  the 


INTRODUCTION.  IX 

opal  is  the  gem  that  is  most  frequently  spoken  of  as  unlucky, 
and  that  the  sale  of  the  opal  of  late  years  has  been  very  slow  on 
that  account.  "It  seems,"  he  continues,  "as  if  many  ladies 
really  believed  that  it  would  bring  them  misfortune  to  wear  or 
even  to  own  an  opal ;  and  we  frequently  hear  ladies  say  that 
they  would  not  accept  one  as  a  gift."  Some  writers  attribute 
this  unpopularity  to  Scott's  "  Anne  of  Geierstein."  This,  at 
least,  is  a  modern  superstition ;  for  the  opal  was  once  considered 
a  talisman  of  rare  virtue. 

An  old  jeweller  tells  me  that  he  frequently  sells  a  moonstone 
as  a  "  lucky  stone."  It  is  of  little  pecuniary  value,  but  he  says 
that  it  is  worn  in  rings  and  charms  as  bringing  good  luck.  The 
moonstone  has  furnished  Wilkie  Colhns  with  the  theme  fur 
one  of  his  weird  tales. 

My  informant  goes  on  to  say  that  "a  fine  turquoise  is  of  a 
beautiful  blue,  —  about  the  color  of  a  robin's  egg.  For  some 
reason  not  perfectly  understood  it  changes  from  blue  to  green, 
and  sometimes  to  white.  I  own  a  turquoise  myself,  which  I 
am  sure  changes  color,  sometimes  looking  green,  and  sometimes 
blue.  This  change  of  color  gave  rise  to  the  behef  that  the 
color  of  a  turquoise  varied  with  the  health  of  the  wearer,  being 
blue  when  the  wearer  was  hi  good  health,  and  white  or  green 
in  case  of  ill-health.  The  emerald  is  said  to  be  the  symbol  of 
jealousy,  — '  the  green-eyed  monster.'  For  this  reason  it  is  not 
considered  as  being  suitable  for  an  engagement-ring.  I  don't 
know  that  I  ever  heard  of  one  being  offered  as  an  engagement- 
gift  ;  and  if  a  young  gentleman  should  ask  my  advice  in  regard 
to  buying  an  emerald  ring  for  this  purpose,  I  should  dissuade 
him,  on  the  ground  that  the  young  lady  might  look  upon  it  as 
a  bad  omen."  This  feeling  or  superstition  is  used  in  Black's 
story  of  "The  Three  Feathers,"  in  which  a  marriage  is  pre- 
vented by  the  gift  of  an  emerald  ring ;  "for,"  says  the  novelist, 
"  how  could  any  two  people  marry  who  had  engaged  themselves 
with  an  emerald  ringV  A  sapphire,  on  the  contrary,  given 
by  another  admirer,  brings  matters  to  a  happy  conclusion ;  once 
more  fulfilling  the  prophecy  of  an  old  rhyme,  — 


X  IXTKODUCTION. 

Oh,  green 's  forsaken. 

And  yellow 's  forsworn, 
And  blue  's  the  sweetest 

Color  that 's  worn  ! 

There  certainly  is  a  difference  in  the  way  that  all  these  be- 
liefs are  received,  —  some  people  subscribing  to  them  fully  and 
frankly,  while  others,  who  do  not  like  to  be  laughed  at  by 
their  sceptical  neighbors,  speaking  of  them  as  trifles.  But  such 
doubters  may  be  better  judged  by  their  acts  than  by  their  pro- 
fessions, —  at  least  so  long  as  they  are  willing  to  try  the  potency 
of  this  or  that  charm,  "just  to  see  how  it  will  come  out." 

To  return  to  the  legendary  pieces  that  compose  this  volume, 
it  is  proper  to  state  that  only  certain  poetic  versions  have  hither- 
to been  accessible  to  the  public,  and  that  consequently  impres- 
sions have  been  formed  that  these  versions  were  good  and  valid 
narratives ;  while  the  fact  is  that  the  poems  are  not  so  much 
designed  to  teach  history  or  its  truth,  as  to  illustrate  its  spirit 
in  an  effective  and  picturesque  manner.  Yet  in  most  cases  they 
do  deal  with  real  personages  and  events,  and  they  stand  for 
faithful  relations. 

It  was  this  fact  that  first  gave  me  the  idea  of  bringing  the 
prose  and  poetic  versions  together,  in  order  that  those  interested, 
more  especially  teachers,  might  have  as  ready  access  to  the  truth, 
as  hitherto  they  have  had  to  the  romance,  of  history. 

For  enabling  me  to  carry  out  this  idea  my  thanks  are  espe- 
cially due  to  Messrs.  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  who  promptly 
granted  me  their  permission  to  use  the  several  extracts  taken 
from  the  poems  of  Longfellow,  "Whittier,  and  Holmes ;  and 
I  beg  all  tliose  literary  friends  who  have  extended  the  like 
courtesy  to  accept  the  like  acknowledgment, 

S.  A.  D. 

Melrose,  Mass.,  Oct.  1883. 


'%'    I 


i  4aL^ 


Part  Jirst. 


BOSTON   LEGENDS. 

PAGE 

The  Solitary  of  Shawmut.  —  .7.  L.  Motley 3 

Boston  Common. —  0.  W.Holmes 10 

Mistress  Anne  Hutchinson 11 

The  Death  of  Rainsborougli 22 

The  Case  of  Mistress  Ann  Hibbins 28 

Marj  Dyer 3G 

The  King's  Missive 46 

The  Quaker  Prophetess 56 

In  the  Okl  South  Church.— ^.  6^.  IFAtocr 59 

More  Wonders  of  the  Invisible  World 60 

Calef  in  Boston. — J.  G.  Whittier 65 

Nix's  Mate 60 

The  Duel  on  the  Common 69 

Due  d'Anville's  Descent 71 

A  Ballad  of  the  French  Fleet. —1?^.  IF.  iyO«f7/e//oMJ 75 


XU  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Clirist  Church. — Edwin  B.  Russell 77 

Paul  Revere 's  Ride 78 

Peter  Rugg.  —  William  Austin 90 

A  Legeud  of  the  Old  Elm.  —  Isaac  McLellan,  Jr 105 

Hoxbury  Pudding-Stoue Ill 

Tlie  Dorchester  Giant.  —  0.  W.  Holmes ill 


Part  SbttdxCti. 

CAMBEIDGE  LEGENDS. 

The  Washington  Elm 115 

The  Last  of  the  Highwaymen 119 

The  Eliot  Oak 121 

Part  Srtfrti. 

LYNN  AND   NAHANT  LEGENDS. 

The  Bridal  of  Peunacook 128 

The  Pirate's  Glen 1.32 

Moll  Pitcher 1.37 

mgh^odk.  — Elizabeth  F.  Merrill 141 

Nahaut 148 

The  SearSerpent 1.56 

The  Floure  of  Souvenance 159 

Swampscott  Beach 162 


Part  iFourt]^. 
SALEM   LEGENDS. 


Salem 

Tlie  Escape  of  Philip  Euglisli 
Endicott  and  the  Red  Cross 
Cassandra  Southwick    .     . 
The  Witchcraft  Tragedy . 
Giles  Corey  the  Wizard    . 
The  Bell  Tavern  Mv.sterv 


167 
176 
180 
18.3 
188 
194 
196 


CONTENTS. 

Part  Ji'ftf). 
MARBLEHEAD   LEGENDS. 


PAUE 


Marblehead  :  The  Town 205 

The  Shrieking  Woman 211 

The  Strange  Adventures  of  Philip  Ashton 212 

Agnes,  the  Maid  of  the  Inn 221 

Skipper  Ireson's  Eide 227 

A  Plea  for  Flood  Ireson.  —  Charles  T,  Brooks 232 


Part  Siitfj. 

CAPE-ANN   LEGENDS. 

Cape  Ann 237 

Captain  John  Smith 243 

Thacher's  Island       244 

Anthony  Thacher's  Shipwreck 245 

The  Swan  Song  of  Parson  Avery. — J.  G.  Whittier 252 

Tlie  Spectre  Leaguers 253 

The  Garrison  of  Cape  Ann, — J.  G.  Whittier 258 

Old  Meg,  the  Witch 259 

An  Escape  from  Pirates 261 

Norman's  Woe 263 

Hannah  binding  Shoes.  —  Lucj/  Larcom 267 


Part  S>tbcnt\). 

IPSWICH   AND  NEWBURY   LEGENDS. 

I]iswich 273 

Old  Ipswich  Town.  —  Appleton  Morgan 277 

Heartbreak  Hill 279 

Newburyport 284 

Lord  Timothy  Dexter 292 

The  Old  Elm  of  Newbury 301 

The  Prophecy  of  Samuel  Sewall 304 

The  Double-Headed  Snake 307 

Thomas  Macy,  the  Exile 310 

Telling  the  Bees 314 


CONTENTS. 

Part  5£isi)tf). 
HAMPTON   AND   PORTSMOUTH   LEGENDS. 


PAGE 


Hampton 319 

Jonathan  Moultou  and  the  Devil 322 

Goody  Cole 328 

The  Wreck  of  Eiverraouth.— J.  G.  n 7/ ////(-/• 329 

Portsmouth 331 

The  Stone-throwing  Devil 3.3:i 

Lady  Wentworth 337 


Part  Nintlj. 

YORK,   ISLES-OF-SHOALS,    AND   BOON-ISLAND 
LEGENDS. 

Isles  of  Shoals 345 

On  Star  Island.  —  Sarah  0.  Jewett 348 

A  Legend  of  Blackbeard 350 

The  Spanish  Wreck 352 

The  Spaniards'  Graves.  —  Celia  Thaxter 354 

Boon  Island 3.o5 

The  Watch  of  Boon  Island.  —  Celia  Thaxter 356 

The  Grave  of  Champernowne 357 

Agamenticus  (York,  Maine) 358 

Mount  Agamenticus 359 

Saint  Aspeuquid.  —  John  Albee 360 


Part  Etntl). 

OLD-COLONY   LEGENDS. 

Hanging  by  Proxy 365 

The  Old  Oaken  Bucket.  — SamHt/  ir(W»w7/i 370 

Destruction  of  Minot's  Light 375 

Minot's  Ledge. —  Fitz-Jamrs  O'Brien 377 

Legends  of  Plymouth  Kock 3(8 

Mary  Chilton.  —  George  Bancroft  Griffith 380 

The  Courtship  of  Myles  Standisli 383 

The  Pilgrim  Fathers.  —  Percival,  Pierpont,  Ilemans,  Spraquc   .     .     .  389 


CONTENTS. 


Part  lEIe&entf). 
RHODE-ISLAND   LEGENDS. 


PAGE 

The  Skeleton  in  Armor .     393 

The  :SewpovtTo^^■el•.  — J.  G.Bnwiurd,L.H.Siijoumey     ....    401 

Block  Island ^^^ 

409 
The  Buccaneer 

The  Palatine.— /.  G.  TF/(/«/er 413 

The  Last  of  the  Wampauoags 414 


Part  Etodft^. 

CONNECTICUT   LEGENDS. 

417 

421 


The  Phantom  Ship 

The  Charter  Oak • 

The  Charter  Oak  {poem).  — L.H.Sigoimiei/ 426 


The  Place  of  Nc 


427 


Matchit  Moodus.  —  J.  G.  Bruinard 429 

The  Spanish  GaUeon 431 

The  Money-Diggers.— ./.  G.  Bra trtard 435 

The  Norwich  Elms.  —  L.  H.  Sigourney 436 


part  2:|)irtc£ntf). 

NANTUCKET   AND   OTHER  LEGENDS. 

Nantucket  Legends 441 

The  Alarmed  Skipper.— James  r.    Fields 447 

The  L^uknown  Champion 449 


LIST    OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

Robinson,  Stevenson,  and  Mary 

Dj-er  going  to  Execution,  Frontispiece 

Vignette,  Puritan  Hats      ...  3 

The  Solitarj'  of  Shawniut ...  6 

Hanging-Lamp 11 

Site  of  Mrs.  Hutchinson's  House  15 

Trial  of  Mrs.  Hutchinson  ...  19 

The  Death  of  Rainsborough    .     .  26 

Night-Watchman 28 

Execution  of  Mrs.  Hibbins     .     .  32 

TheOIdEhn .34 

Scourging  a  Quaker      ....  37 

Hand-Reel 42 

Endicott    receiving    the   King's 

Order 48 

Liberty  Tree .50 

Ancient  Houses,  North  End  .     .  58 
Candlestick,    Bible,    and    Spec- 
tacles .........  62 

Tomb  of  the  Mathers     ....  64 

Nix's  Mate 66 

The  Due!  on  the  Common       .     .  70 

Old  South  Church 71 

Christ  Church 77 

Boston,  from  Breed's  Hill       .     .  80 

Sign  of  the  Green  Dragon       .     .  81 

Grenadier,  1775 83 

Revere  arousing  theMinute-Mau  86 
Peter  Rugg  and   the   Thundur- 

Storm 02 

Equestrians 04 

Hackney-Coach 95 

Market-Woman 100 


PAGE 

Boston  Truck 103 

Chaise,  1776 107 

The  Money-Digger  .     .     .     .     .  109 

Old  Milestone,  Dorchester      .     .  Ill 

Old  Fire-Dogs 112 

Vignette,  Wine  and  Hour  Glasses  1 15 

The  Washington  Elm    ....  116 

The  Eliot  Oak,  Brighton    ...  122 

Milestone,  Cambridge   ....  124 

Vignette,  Symbols  of  Witchcraft  127 

An  Indian  Princess 129 

Moll  Pitcher 138 

Moll  Pitcher's  Cottage  ....  143 

Egg  Rock  and  the  Sea-Serpent  .  157 

Forget-me-nots     ......  159 

A  Spring  Carol 164 

Vignette,  The  Witches'  Ride     .  167 

Philip  English's  House,  Salem   .  177 

Cutting  out  the  Cross    ....  181 

Soldier  of  1630 182 

Condemned  to  be  sold  ....  184 

The  Parsonage,  Salem  Village  .  191 
Staffs    used    by    Jacobs    when 

going  to  Execution    ....  192 

The  Bell   from  an  Old  Print  .     .  199 

Tailpiece 201 

Endicott's     Sun-Dial ;     Designs 

from  Old  Money 205 

Low's  Pirate  Flag 212 

Alone  on  the  Desert  Island    .     .  217 

Love  at  First  Sight 222 

Skipper  Ireson's  Ride   ....  229 

Tailpiece     .     .         233 


XVlll 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTKATIONS. 


PAGE 

Vignette,  Pewter  Dishes    .     .     .  237 

The  Magnolia 237 

The  Shipwreck 246 

A  Sortie  upon  the  Demons      .     .  255 

Norman's  Woe  Rock     ....  204 

Poor  lone  Hannah 268 

Tailpiece,  Bats 269 

Vignette,  The  Cabalistic  Nine    .  273 

Padlock  and  Key,  Ipswich  Jail  .  275 

Ipswich  Heads 278 

Men  of  Mark 280 

The  Maiden's  Watch     ....  281 

Beacon,  Salisbury  Point     .     .     .  285 

Whitetield's  Monument     ...  290 

Lord  Timothy  Dexter's  Mansion  293 

Warming-Pan 298 

Lord  Timothy  Dexter  ....  299 

The  Old  Elm  of  Newbury      .     .  302 

Ye  Double-Headed  Snake       .     .  308 

Escape  of  Goodman  Macy      .     .  312 

Beehive 315 

Tailpiece 316 

Vignette,  Bats 319 

Boar's  Head 319 

Jonathan  Moulton  and  j-e  Devil  323 
"  I  shall  ride  in  my  Chariot  yet, 

Ma'am  ! " 340 

Tailpiece,  Umbrella 342 

Captain  Teach,  or  Blackbeard    .  351 


PAGE 

Vignette,  Mayflowers    ....  365 

The  Old  Oaken  Bucket      ...  372 

The  First  Minot's  Lighthouse      .  375 

Mary  Chilton's  Leap     ....  379 

Ancient  Gravestone,  Burial  Hill  381 
Monument      over     Forefathers' 

Eock,  Plymouth 382 

Standish  House,  Duxbury     .     .  .:;84 
"Prithee,  John,  why  don't  you 

speak  for  yourself  V"     .     .     .  387 
Tailpiece, Candlestick,  Bible,  and 

Spectacles 390 

Helmets,  Puritan  Time      .     .     .  393 

Old  Windmill,  Newport     ...  394 

The  Skeleton  in  Armm-      ...  397 

Ancient  Windmill 405 

Lee  on  the  Spectre  Horse  .     .     .  411 

Vignette,  Hairdresser's  Shop      .  417 

The  Phantom  Ship 419 

The  Charter  Oak 423 

Old  Warehouses,  New  London  .  432 
Ancient  Mill,  New  London     .     .  433 
Vignette,  Quaker  Heads    .     .     .  441 
Bass  Rocks,  Gay  Head,  Cutty- 
hunk  442 

Goffe  rallying  the  Settlers       .     .  453 
Graves   of    the   Regicides,   New 

Haven 456 

Tailpiece,  Blacksmith's  Arms     .  457 


BOSTON    LEGENDS. 


THE  SOLITARY  OF  SHAWMUT. 


BY  J.  L.   MOTLEY. 
1628. 


ASOLITAEY  figure  sat  upon  the  summit  of  Shawmut, 
He  was  a  man  of  about  thirty  years  of  age,  somewhat 
above  the  middle  height,  slender  in  form,  with  a  pale,  thought- 
ful face.  He  wore  a  confused  dark-colored,  half-canonical  dress, 
with  a  gray  broad-leaved  hat  strung  with  shells,  like  an  ancient 
palmer's,  and  slouched  back  from  his  pensive  brow,  around 
which  his  prematurely  gray  hair  fell  in  heavy  curls  far  down 
upon  his  neck.  He  had  a  wallet  at  his  side,  a  hammer  in  his 
girdle,  and  a  long  staff  in  his  hand.  The  hermit  of  Shawmut 
looked  out  upon  a  scene  of  winning  beauty.  The  promontory 
resembled  rather  two  islands  than  a  peninsula,  although  it  was 
anchoi-ed  to  the  continent  by  a  long  slender  thread  of  land 
which  seemed  hardly  to  restrain  it  from  floating  out  to  join  its 
•sister  islands,  which  were  thickly  strewn  about  the  bay.  The 
peak  upon  which  the  hermit  sat  was  the  highest  of  the  three 
cliffs  of  the  peninsula ;  upon  the  southeast,  and  very  near  him, 
rose  another  hill  of  lesser  height  and  more  rounded  form  ;  and 
upon  the  other  side,  and  toward  the  north,  a  third  craggy  peak 
presented  its  bold  and  elevated  front  to  the  ocean.  Thus  the 
-whole  peninsula  was  made  up  of  three  lofty  crags.     It  was  from 


4  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

this  triple  conformation  of  the  promontory  of  Shawmut  that  Avas 
derived  the  appellation  of  Trimountain,  or  Tremont,  which  it 
soon  afterwards  received. 

The  vast  conical  shadows  were  projected  eastwardly,  as  the 
hermit,  with  his  back  to  the  declining  sun,  looked  out  upon  the 
sea. 

The  bay  was  spread  out  at  liis  feet  in  a  broad  semicircle,  with 
its  extreme  headlands  vanishing  in  the  hazy  distance,  while 
beyond  rolled  the  vast  expanse  of  ocean,  with  no  spot  of  habi- 
table earth  beyond  those  outermost  barriers  and  that  far  distant 
fatherland  which  the  exile  had  left  forever.  Not  a  solitary  sail 
whitened  those  purple  waves,  and  saving  the  Aving  of  the  sea- 
gull, Avhich  noAv  and  then  flashed  in  the  sunshine  or  gleamed 
across  the  dimness  of  the  eastern  horizon,  the  solitude  was  at  the 
moment  unbroken  by  a  single  movement  of  animated  nature. 
An  intense  and  breathless  silence  enwrapped  the  scene  Avith  a 
vast  and  mystic  veil.  The  bay  presented  a  spectacle  of  great 
beauty.  It  Avas  not  that  the  outlines  of  the  coast  around  it  were 
broken  into  those  jagged  and  cloud-like  masses, —  that  pictu- 
resque and  startling  scenery  Avhere  precipitous  crag,  infinite 
abyss,  and  roaring  surge  unite  to  aAvaken  stern  and  sublime 
emotions  ;  on  the  contrary,  the  gentle  loveliness  of  this  trans- 
atlantic scene  inspired  a  soothing  melancholy  more  congenial  to 
the  contemplative  character  of  its  solitary  occupant.  The  bay, 
secluded  Avithin  its  forest- croAvned  hills,  decorated  Avith  its  neck- 
lace of  emerald  islands,  with  its  dark-blue  Avaters  gilded  Avith 
the  rays  of  the  Avestern  sun,  and  its  shadowy  forests  of  unknown 
antiquity  expanding  into  infinite  depths  around,  was  an  image 
of  fresh  and  virgin  beauty,  a  fitting  type  of  a  ncAV  Avorld  un- 
adorned by  art,  unploughed  by  industry,  unscathed  by  Avar, 
Avearing  none  of  the  thousand  joriceless  jeAvels  of  civilization, 
and  unpolluted  by  its  thousand  crimes,  —  springing,  as  it  Avere, 
from  the  bosom  of  the  ocean,  cool,  dripping,  sparkling,  and 
fresh  from  the  hand  of  its  Creator. 

On  the  left,  as  the  pilgrim  sat  Avith  bis  face  to  the  east,  the 
outlines  of  the  coast  Avere  comparatively  low,  but  broken  into 


THE    SOLITARY   OF   SHAWMUT.  5 

gentle  and  pleasing  forms.  Immediately  at  his  feet  lay  a  larger 
island,  in  extent  nearly  equal  to  the  peninsula  of  Shawmut, 
covered  with  mighty  forest-trees,  and  at  that  day  untenanted 
by  a  human  being,  although  but  a  short  time  afterwards  it 
became  the  residence  of  a  distinguished  pioneer.  Outside  this 
bulwark  a  chain  of  thickly  wooded  islets  stretched  across  from 
shore  to  shore,  with  but  one  or  two  narrow  channels  between, 
presenting  a  picturesque  and  effectual  barrier  to  the  boisterous 
storms  of  ocean.  They  seemed  like  naiads,  those  islets  lifting 
above  the  billows  their  gentle  heads,  crowned  with  the  budding 
garlands  of  the  spring,  and  circling  hand  in  hand,  like  protective 
deities,  about  the  scene. 

On  the  south,  l^eyond  the  narrow  tongue  of  land  which  bound 
the  peninsula  to  the  main,  and  which  was  so  slender  that  the 
spray  from  the  eastern  side  was  often  dashed  across  it  into  the 
calmer  cove  of  the  west,  rose  in  the  immediate  distance  that 
long,  boldly  broken  purple-colored  ridge  called  the  Massachu- 
setts, or  Mount  Arrow  Head,  by  the  natives,  and  by  the  first 
English  discoverer  baptized  the  Cheviot  Hills.     On  "their  left 
and  within  the  deep  curve  of  the  coast,  were  the  slightly  ele- 
vated heights  of  Passanogessit,  or  Merry  Mount,  and°on  their 
right  stretched  the  broad  forest,  hill  beyond  hill,  away.    Towards 
the  west  and  northwest,  the  eye  wandered  over  a  vast  undu- 
lating panorama  of  gently  rolling  heights,  upon  whose  summits 
the  gigantic  pine-forests,  with  their  towering  tops  piercing  the 
clouds,  were  darkly  shadowed  upon  the  western  sky,  while  in 
the  dim  distance,  far  above  and  beyond  the  whole,  visible  only 
through  a  cloudless  atmosphere,  rose  the  airy  summits  of  the 
Wachusett,  Watatick,  and  Monadnock  Mountains.      Upon  the 
inland  side,  at  the  base  of  the  hill,  the  Quinobequin  Eiver, 
which  Smith  had  already  christened  with  the  royal  name  of 
his  unhappy  patron,   Charles,  might  be  seen  writhing  in  its 
slow  and  tortuous  course,  like  a  wounded  serpent,  tiH  it  lost 
itself  in  the  blue  and  beautiful  cove  which  spread  around  the 
whole  western  edge  of  the  peninsula;   and  within  the  same 
basin,  directly  opposite  the  northern  peak  of  Shawmut,  advanced 


6 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


the  bold  and  craggy  promontory  of  Mishawum,  where  Walford, 
the  solitary  smith,  had  built  his  thatched  and  palisaded  house. 
The  blue  thread  of  the  River  Mvstic,  which  here  mingled  its 


-hi' 


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XUE    SOLITARY    OF    SUAWMUT. 


waters  with  the  Charles,  gleamed  for  a  moment  beyond  the 
heights  of  Mishawum,  and  then  vanished  into  the  frowning 
forest. 

Such  was  the  scene,  upon  a  bright  afternoon  of  spring,  which 
spread  before  the  eyes  of  the  solitary,  William  Blaxton,  the 


THE    SOLITAEY   OF   SIIAWMUT.  7 

hermit  of  Shawmut.  It  was  a  simple  but  sublime  image,  that 
gentle  exile  in  his  silvan  solitude.  It  was  a  simple  but  sub- 
lime thought,  which  placed  him  and  sustained  him  in  his  lone- 
retreat.  In  all  ages  there  seem  to  exist  men  who  have  no 
appointed  place  in  the  world.  They  are  before  their  age  in 
their  aspirations,  above  it  in  their  contemplation,  but  behind 
it  in  their  capacity  for  action.  Keen  to  detect  the  follies  and 
the  inconsistencies  which  surround  them,  shrinking  from  the 
contact  and  the  friction  of  tlie  rough  and  boisterous  world 
without,  and  building  within  the  solitude  of  their  meditations 
the  airy  fabric  of  a  regenerated  and  purified  existence,  they  pass 
their  nights  in  unproductive  study,  and  their  days  in  dreams. 
With  intelligence  bright  and  copious  enough  to  Uluminate  and 
to  warm  tlie  chill  atmosphere  of  the  surrounding  world,  if  the 
scattered  rays  were  concentrated,  but  with  an  inability  or  dis- 
inclination to  impress  themselves  upon  other  minds,  they  pass 
their  lives  without  obtaining  a  result,  and  their  characters,, 
dwarfed  by  their  distance  from  the  actual  universe,  acquire  an 
apparent  indistinctness  and  feebleness  which  in  reality  does  not 
belong  to  them. 

^  The  impending  revolution  in  Church  and  State  which  hung 
like  a  gathering  thunder-cloud  above  England's  devoted  head° 
was  exciting  to  the  stronger  spirits,  whether  of  mischief  or  of 
virtue,  who  rejoiced  to  mingle  in  the  elemental  war  and  to 
plunge  into  the  roiling  surge  of  the  world's  events ;  while  to 
the  timid,  the  hesitating,  and  the  languid,  it  rose  like  a  dark 
and  threatening  phantom,  scaring  them  into  solitude,  or  urging 
them  to  seek  repose  and  safety  in  obscurity.  Thus  there  may 
be  men  whose  spirits  are  in  advance  of  their  age,  while  still  the 
current  of  the  world  floAvs  rapidly  past  them. 

Of  such  men,  and  of  such  instincts,  was  the  solitary  wlm 
sat  on  the  chffs  of  Shawmut.  Forswearing  the  country  of 
his  birth  and  early  manhood,  where  there  seemed,  in  the 
present  state  of  her  affairs,  no  possibility  that  minds  like  his 
could  develop  or  sustain  themselves,  —  dropping,  as  it  were, 
like   a  premature  and  unripened  fruit  from  the  bough  where 


8  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

its  blossoms  had  first  unfolded,  —  he  had  wandered  into  vol- 
untary exile  with  hardly  a  regret.  Debarred  from  ministering 
at  the  altar  to  which  he  had  consecrated  his  youth,  because 
unable  to  comply  with  mummery  at  which  his  soul  revolted, 
he  had  become  a  high  priest  of  nature,  and  had  reared  a  pure 
and  soHtary  altar  in  the  wilderness.  He  had  dwelt  in  this 
solitude  for  three  or  four  years,  and  had  found  in  the  con- 
templation of  nature,  in  the  liberty  of  conscience,  in  solitary 
study  and  self-communing,  a  solace  for  the  ills  he  had  suffered, 
and  a  recompense  for  the  world  he  had  turned  his  back  upon 
forever. 

His  spirit  was  a  prophetic  spirit,  and  his  virtues  belonged  not 
to  his  times.  In  an  age  which  regarded  toleration  as  a  crime, 
he  had  the  courage  to  cultivate  it  as  a  virtue.  In  an  age  in 
which  liberty  of  conscience  was  considered  fearful  licentious- 
ness, he  left  his  fatherland  to  obtain  it,  and  was  as  ready  to 
rebuke  the  intolerant  tyranny  of  the  nonconformist  of  the  wil- 
derness, as  he  had  been  to  resist  the  bigotry  and  persecution 
of  the  prelacy  at  home.  In  short,  the  soul  of  the  gentle  her- 
mit flew  upon  pure  white  wings  before  its  age,  but  it  flew, 
like  the  dove,  to  the  wilderness.  Wanting  both  power  and 
inclination  to  act  upon  others,  he  became  not  a  reformer,  but 
a  recluse.  Having  enjoyed  and  improved  a  classical  education 
at  the  University  of  Cambridge,  he  was  a  thorough  and  an 
elegant  scholar.  He  was  likewise  a  profound  observer,  and  a 
student  of  nature  in  all  her  external  manifestations,  and  loved 
to  theorize  and  to  dream  in  the  various  walks  of  science.  The 
botanical  and  mineralogical  wonders  of  the  New  World  were 
to  him  the  objects  of  unceasing  speculation,  and  he  loved  to 
proceed  from  the  known  to  the  unknown,  and  to  weave  line 
chains  of  thought,  which  to  his  soaring  fancy  served  to  bind 
the  actual  to  the  unseen  and  the  spiritual,  and  upon  which, 
as  upon  the  celestial  ladder  in  the  patriarch's  vision,  he  could 
dream  that  the  angels  of  the  Lord  were  descending  to  earth 
from  heaven. 

The  day  was  fast  declining  as  the  solitary  still  sat  upon  the 


THE    SOLITARY    OF    SHAWMUT.  9 

peak  and  mused.  He  arose  as  the  sun  was  sinking  below  the 
forest-crowned  hills  which  girt  his  silvan  hermitage,  and  gazed 
steadfastly  towards  the  west. 

"  Another  day,"  he  said,  "  hath  shone  upon  my  lonely  path  ; 
another  day  hath  joined  the  buried  ages  which  have  folded  their 
wings  beneath  yon  glowing  west,  leaving  in  their  noiseless  flight 
across  this  virgin  world  no  trace  nor  relic  of  their  passage.  'T  is 
strange,  'tis  fearful,  this  eternal  and  unbroken  silence.  Upon 
what  fitful  and  checkered  scenes  hath  yonder  sun  looked  down 
in  other  lands,  even  in  the  course  of  this  single  day's  career ! 
Events  as  thickly  studded  as  the  stars  of  lieaven  have  clustered 
and  shone  forth  beneath  his  rays,  even  as  his  glowing  chariot- 
wheels  performed  their  daily  course  ;  and  here,  in  this  mysterious 
and  speechless  world,  as  if  a  spell  of  enchantment  lay  upon  it, 
the  silence  is  unbroken,  the  whole  face  of  nature  still  dewy  and 
fresh.  The  step  of  civilization  hath  not  adorned  nor  polluted  the 
surface  of  this  wilderness.  No  stately  temples  gleam  in  yonder 
valleys,  no  storied  monument  nor  aspiring  shaft  pierces  yonder 
floating  clouds ;  no  mighty  cities,  swarming  with  life,  filled  to 
bursting  with  the  ten  thousand  attendants  of  civilized  humanity, 
luxury  and  want,  pampered  sloth,  struggling  industry,  disease, 
crime,  riot,  pestilence,  death,  all  hotly  pent  within  their  narrow 
precincts,  encumber  yon  sweeping  plains  ;  no  peaceful  villages, 
clinging  to  ancient,  ivy-mantled  churches ;  no  teeming  fields, 
spreading  their  vast  and  nourishing  bosoms  to  the  toiling  thou- 
sands, meet  this  wandering  gaze.  No  cheerful  chime  of  vesper- 
bell,  no  peaceful  low  of  the  returning  kine,  no  watch-dog's  bark, 
no  merry  shout  of  children's  inuoeeut  voices,  no  floating  music 
from  the  shepherd's  pipe,  no  old  familiar  sounds  of  humanity, 
break  on  this  listening  ear.  No  snowy  sail  shines  on  yon  eternal 
ocean,  its  blue  expanse  unrufiled  and  unmarred  as  the  azure 
heaven  ;  and  ah  !  no  crimson  banners  flout  the  sky,  and  no 
embattled  hosts  shake  witli  their  martial  tread  this  silent  earth. 
'Tis  silence  and  mystery  all.  .Sliall  it  be  ever  ihual  Shall  this 
green  and  beautiful  world,  which  so  long  hath  slept  invisibly 
at  the  side  of  its  ancient  sister,  still  weave  its  virgin  wreath 


10  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

unsoileJ  by  passion  and  pollution'?  Shall  this  new,  vast  page 
in  the  broad  history  of  man  remain  unsullied,  or  shall  it  soon 
flutter  in  the  storm-winds  of  fate,  and  be  stamped  with  the  same 
iron  record,  the  same  dreary  catalogue  of  misery  and  crime,  which 
fills  the  chronicle  of  the  elder  world  1  'T  is  passing  strange,  this 
sudden  apocalypse  !  Lo  I  is  it  not  as  if  the  universe,  the  narrow 
universe  which  bounded  men's  thoughts  in  ages  past,  had  swung 
open,  as  if  by  an  almighty  fiat,  and  spread  wide  its  eastern  and 
western  wings  at  once,  to  shelter  the  myriads  of  the  human 
racer' 

The  hermit  arose,  slowly  collected  a  few  simples  which  he 
had  culled  from  the  wilderness,  a  few  roots  of  early  spring 
flowers  which  he  destined  for  his  garden,  and  stored  them  in 
his  wallet,  and  then,  grasping  his  long  staff,  began  slowly  to 
descend  the  hill. 


BOSTOls^   COMMON,  — FIEST  PICTURE. 

BY    O.    W.    HOLMES. 

[The  first  of  the  poet  nolmes's  "Three  Pictures"  depicts  tlie  same  person 
and  scene  that  we  have  nonsidered  the  most  fitting  introduction  to  our  Legends, 
—  the  solitary  inhabitant  and  the  solitude  that  his  presence  rendered  still  more 
lonely.  But  preferring  this  to  the  companionship  of  the  "Lord's  brethren," 
as  he  is  said  to  have  called  the  Puritan  settlers  of  Boston,  Blackstone  removed 
into  the  heart  of  the  outlying  wilderness,  where  savages  were  his  oidy  neigh- 
bors. Here  he  died.  The  spot  where  his  lonely  cottage  stood  in  Shawmut, 
and  tlie  place  where  he  is  buried,  are  equally  unknown.] 

All  overgrown  with  bush  and  fern. 

And  straggling  clumps  of  tangled  trees, 
With  trunks  that  lean  and  boughs  that  turn, 

Bent  eastward  by  the  mastering  breeze,  — 
With  spongy  Ttogs  that  drip  and  fill 

A  yellow  pond  with  muddy  rain, 
Beneath  the  shaggy  southern  hill, 

Lies,  wet  and  low,  the  Sliawnmt  plain. 


MISTRESS   ANNE    HUTCHINSON. 


11 


And  hark  !  the  trodden  branches  crack  ; 

A  crow  flaps  off'  with  startled  scream  ; 
A  straying  woodchuck  canters  back  ; 

A  bittern  rises  from  the  stream  ; 
Leaps  from  his  lair  a  frightened  deer  ; 

An  otter  plunges  in  the  pool  ;  — 
Here  comes  old  Shawmut's  pioneer, 

The  parson  on  his  brindled  bull ! 


MISTRESS  ANNE  HUTCHINSON. 

1634. 

THE  biographies  of  Mrs.  Anne  Hutchinson  have,  so  ta 
speak,  been  written  by  her  enemie?.  Modern  authors,  in 
writing  of  her,  have  rehearsed  her  story  from  the  point  of 
view  of  the  seventeenth  century,  and 
we  live  in  the  nineteenth.  But  History 
accepts  no  verdict  that  is  not  founded 
in  impartial  justice,  and  impartial  justice 
was  the  one  thing  that  Anne  Hutchinson 
could  expect  neither  from  her  accusers 
nor  her  judges.  All  the  errors  imputed 
to  her —  and  they  were  sufficiently  venial 
of  themselves — mere  quibbles,  in  fact — 
might  and  should,  we  think,  have  been 
settled  within  the  church  of  which  slie 
was   a  member  ;  but  the  voice  of  the 


community  in  Avhich  she  lived,  Avhich 

knew  and  respected  her  most  for   her 

Christian  virtues  and  her  shining  talents, 

was  silenced  in  the  general  outcry  raised 

from  without,  " Crucify  her,  crucify  her ! "  L^^p 

and,  weakly  yielding  to  it,  the  civil  arm 

struck  her  down  as  relentlessly  is  it  would  liave  done  tlie  worst 


12  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

of  criminals  or  tlie  most  dangerous  enemy  to  public  order.  Mrs. 
Hutchinson  was  driven  with  ignominy  from  her  home  into  exile, 
for  maintaining  in  her  own  house  that  a  mere  profession  of  faith 
could  not  evidence  salvation  unless  the  Spirit  tirst  revealed  itself 
from  within.  Her  appeal  is  to  be  heard.  It  is  too  late  to  blot 
out  the  record,  but  there  is  yet  time  to  reverse  the  attainder. 

We  begin  our  sketch  with  a  simple  introduction. 

Anne  Marbury  was  a  daughter  of  Francis  Marburj',  who  was 
first  a  minister  in  Lincolnshire,  and  afterwards  in  Loudon.  Tliis 
fact  should  be  borne  in  mind  when  following  her  after  career. 
She  was  the  daughter  of  a  scholar  and  a  theologian.  Naturally, 
therefore,  much  of  her  unmarried  as  well  as  her  married  life  had 
been  passed  in  the  society  of  ministers,  whom  she  learned  to 
esteem  more  for  what  they  knew  than  for  what  they  preached. 
The  same  fact,  too,  her  intellectual  gifts  being  considered,  reason- 
ably accounts  for  her  pondering  deeply  the  truths  of  Christian- 
ity and  her  fondness  for  theological  discussion  both  for  its  own 
sake  and  as  involving  the  great  problem  of  her  own  life.  It 
was  the  atmosphere  in  which  she  had  lived  and  moved  and  had 
her  being.  It  aroused  and  quickened  her  intellectual  faculties 
and  perceptions.  She  lived,  too,  in  a  time  of  great  religious 
excitement,  soon  to  become  one  of  active  warfare,  the  period  of 
the  great  Puritan  revolt,  so  that  it  is  easily  seen  how  that 
movement,  which  had  enlisted  some  of  the  noblest  women  in 
England,  should  absorb  such  a  one  as  Anne,  who  was  intel- 
lectually an  enthusiast  and  morally  an  agitator,  who  had  been 
accustomed  to  breathe  the  atmosphere  of  adulation,  and  who 
Avas  ambitious,  capable,  and  adroit.  While  still  young,  she  mar- 
ried William  Hutchinson,  a  country  gentleman  of  good  character 
and  estate,  also  of  Lincolnshire.  We  know  very  little  of  him, 
and  that  little  comes  from  Winthrop,  the  bitter  enemy  and  per- 
secutor of  his  wife,  who  indeed  speaks  of  the  husband  in  terras 
approaching  contemi)t.  But  this  is  also  an  unconscious  tribute 
to  the  superior  talents  of  Anne.  Were  it  all  true,  we  simply 
discover  once  more  the  mutual  ytt  unaccountable,  sympathy 
■existing  between  a  strong  woman  and  a  weak  man  which  it  is 


MISTKESS   ANNE    HUTCHINSON.  13 

the  custom  of  the  world  to  satirize  or  to  sneer  at.  There  is, 
however,  little  doubt  that  the  attachment  of  one  for  the  other 
was  mutually  lasting  and  sincere,  in  spite  of  the  sore  trials  to 
which  their  married  life  was  exposed.  But  allowing  that  he 
was  eclipsed  l)y  the  superior  brilliancy  of  his  wife,  there  is  quite 
enough  evidence  to  i)rove  that  William  Hutchinson  was  a  man 
of  sterling  character  and  worth.  He  played  a  secondary,  but  no 
ignoble,  part  in  the  events  we  have  to  narrate. 

It  happened  that  the  Hutchinsons  were  parishioners  of  the 
Rev.  John  Cotton  when  that  celebrated  divine  was  minister  of 
the  Church  of  Boston,  in  Lincolnshire.  For  him  and  his  abili- 
ties Mrs.  Hutchinson  had  the  highest  respect  and  esteem.  And 
when  Cotton  fled  to  New  England,  as  he  like  so  many  others 
was  at  length  compelled  to  do,  in  order  to  escape  from  the 
tyranny  of  the  bishops,  the  Hutchinsons  also  resolved  to  emi- 
grate thither,  and  presently  the  whole  family  did  so.  It  is 
proper  to  be  mentioned  here  that  Mrs.  Hutchinson's  daughter 
had  married  the  Eev.  John  Wheelwright,  another  minister  of 
Lincolnshire,  who  was  also  deprived  for  nonconformity,  and 
who  also  came  to  New  England  in  consequence  of  the  perse- 
cutions of  Archbishop  Laud. 

The  long  interval  that  elapsed  between  the  date  of  her  mar- 
riage and  that  of  her  removal  to  America  is  very  imperfectly 
filled  out  in  the  notices  we  have  of  Mrs.  Hutchinson's  hfe.  We 
are  not  made  acquainted  with  any  of  those  formative  processes 
by  which  she  became  so  well  equipped  for  the  mental  and  spirit- 
ual conflict  that  she  was  soon  to  enter  upon  with  an  adversary 
who  could  neither  learn  nor  forget.  A  family  had  now  grown 
up  around  her.  Besides  the  daughter,  the  Mrs.  Wheelwright 
already  mentioned,  there  were  three  sons ;  so  that  it  was  no 
young,  sentimental,  or  unbalanced  novice,  but  a  middle-aged, 
matured,  and  experienced  woman  of  the  world  who  embarked 
in  the  autumn  of  1634  for  New  England,  looking  eagerly  there 
to  obtain  and  enjoy  liberty  of  conscience  among  those  who 
might  be  supposed,  if  any  people  on  the  earth  could,  to  know 
its  value. 


14  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

During  the  voyage  she  entered  into  discussions  with  some 
Puritan  ministers  who  were  also  going  out  to  New  England, 
iipon  such  abstruse  points  as  what  were  the  evidences  of  justi- 
fication, and  she  broadly  hinted  that  when  they  should  arrive 
at  their  destination  they  might  expect  to  hear  more  from  her. 
From  these  things,  trivial  in  themselves,  it  is  clear  that  Mrs. 
Hutchinson  considered  herself  to  have  a  mission  to  deliver  to 
the  people  and  churches  of  New  England.  She  avowed  her 
entire  belief  in  direct  revelations  made  to  the  elect,  moreover 
declaring  that  never  had  anything  of  importance  happened  to 
her  which  had  not  been  revealed  to  her  beforehand. 

The  vessel  made  her  port  on  the  18th  of  September,  1634. 
Its  appearance  was  so  mean  and  so  uninviting,  that  one  of  her 
fellow  passengers,  supposing  it  to  have  depressed  her  spirits, 
commented  upon  it,  in  order,  as  it  appeared,  to  draw  her  out. 
But  she  denied  that  the  meanness  of  the  place  had  in  any  way 
affected  her,  because,  as  she  said,  "  she  knew  that  the  bounds 
of  her  habitation  were  already  determined." 

Upon  their  arrival,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hutchinson  made  their 
.application  to  be  received  as  members  of  the  church.  This 
step  was  indispensable  to  admit  them  into  Christian  fellowship 
and  him  to  the  privileges  of  a  citizen.  He  was  admitted  in  Octo- 
ber, but  in  consequence  of  the  reports  already  spread  concerning 
her  extravagant  opinions,  Mrs.  Hutchinson  was  subjected  to  a 
searching  examination  before  her  request  was  granted.  She, 
however,  passed  through  the  ordeal  safely,  the  examining  min- 
isters, one  of  whom  was  her  old  and  beloved  pastor,  Mr.  Cotton, 
declaring  themselves  satisfied  witli  her  answers.  She  entered 
the  Boston  church  in  November. 

For  some  time  onward  we  hear  very  little  of  Mrs.  Hutchinson, 
except  that  she  was  treated  with  particular  respect  and  attention 
by  Mr.  Cotton  and  others.  The  getting  settled  in  a  new  home 
probably  occupied  her  to  the  exclusion  of  everything  else.  Her 
husband  took  a  house  in  Boston,  and  being  duly  admitted  a 
freeman  of  the  Colony,  he  was  immediately  called  upon  to  bear 
liis  part  in  business  of  ^jublic  concern,  which  he  did  willingly 


MISTEESS    ANNE    HUTCHINSON. 


15 


and  faithfully.  He  received  a  grant  of  lands  in  Braintree  from 
the  General  Court.  He  ^yas  elected  to,  and  served  for  several 
terms  as  a  deputy  in,  this  body,  it  being,  singularly  enough,  his 
fortune  to  sit  as  a  member  when  Roger  Williams  was  brought 
to  the  bar,  tried  for  his  heretical  opinions,  and  banished  by  it 
out  of  the  Colony. 

The  year  1G36  was  destined  to  witness  one  of  the  greatest 
religious  commotions  that  have  ever  puzzled  the  unlearned  or  seri- 
ously called  in  question  the  wisdom  of  the  founders  of  the  Colony. 
The  more  it  is  studied  the  more  inexplicable  it  appears. 


SITE    OF   MRS.    nUTCHINSON  S    UOUSE. 


A  young  man  of  liberal  views,  who  had  not  been  hardened 
by  persecution,  was  then  governor  of  the  Colony,  and,  for  the 
moment,  the  popular  idol.  This  was  Harry  Vane,  who  after- 
wards died  on  the  scaifold.  He  with  Mr.  Cotton  took  much 
notice  of  Mrs.  Hutchinson,  and  their  example  was  quickly  fol- 
lowed by  the  leading  and  influential  people  of  the  town,  who 
treated  her  with  much  consideration  and  respect.  Already  her 
benevolence  toward  the  sutfering  or  the  needy  had  won  for  her 


16  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

many  friends,  while  her  intrepidity  of  soul  and  her  capacity 
for  dealing  with  those  interesting  questions  from  the  discussion 
of  which  they  were  excluded,  led  many  of  her  own  sex  to  look 
up  to  her  not  only  as  a  person  whose  opinions  were  worth 
regarding,  but  also  Avith  admiration  amounting  to  homage. 

Adopting  an  established  custom  of  the  town,  Mrs.  Hutchinson 
held  in  her  own  house  two  weekly  meetings,  —  one  for  men  and 
women,  and  one  exclusively  for  women,  —  at  which  she  was  the 
oracle.  These  meetings  were  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  hear 
read  and  to  discuss  the  sermons  of  the  previous  Sabbath,  and 
for  general  religious  conversation  and  edification.  They  were 
what  would  be  called  in  our  own  day  a  club.  The  bringing 
women  together  in  any  way  for  independent  thought  and  action 
was  a  most  bold  and  novel  innovation,  requiring  much  moral 
courage  on  the  part  of  the  mover.  Her  manner  and  address, 
her  ready  Avit,  her  thorough  mastery  of  her  subject,  the  strong 
purpose  she  displayed,  established  her  ascendency  in  these  dis- 
cussions, and  were  fast  gaining  for  her  a  popularity  that,  spread- 
ing from  her  house  as  a  centre,  alarmed  the  ministers  for  their 
own  hold  upon  the  public  mind,  and  so  determined  them  to 
call  her  and  her  doctrines  seriously  to  account. 

That  Mrs.  Hutchinson's  conversations  were  not  at  first  con- 
sidered to  be  dangerous  either  in  themselves  or  in  their  effects, 
is  clear  from  the  fact  that  the  most  eminent  ministers  and 
magistrates,  attracted  by  her  fame,  came  from  all  quarters  to 
heaii^nd  dispute  with  her.  Such  Avas  her  ready  command  of 
Scripture  authorities  and  her  skill  in  using  all  the  weapons  of 
argument,  that  the  strongest  heads  in  the  colony  found  them- 
selves unable  to  cope  with  her  successfully  upon  her  chosen 
ground.  She  was  impassioned,  she  Avas  adroit ;  she  Avas  an 
enthusiast,  and  yet  she  was  subtle,  logical,  and  deep  ;  she  was 
a  Avoman  Avho  believed  herself  inspired  to  do  a  certain  work, 
and  Avho  had  the  courage  of  her  convictions.  Could  any  other 
have  brought  such  men  as  Cotton,  Vane,  Wheelwright,  Codding- 
ton,  completely  to  embrace  her  views,  or  have  sent  one  like 
Winthrop  to  his  closet,  Avrestling  Avith  himself,  yet  more  than 


MISTRESS   ANNE    HUTCHINSON.  17 

half  persuaded  1  To  call  such  a  woman  an  adventuress,  a  ter- 
magant, or  a  "Jezebel,"  is  a  grave  reflection  upon  the  under- 
standing of  some  of  the  best  minds  in  the  Colony. 

Anne  Hutchinson's  doctrines  were,  in  plain  English,  these  : 
She  held  and  advocated  as  the  highest  truth  that  a  person  could 
be  justified  only  by  an  actual  and  manifest  revelation  of  the 
spirit  to  him  personally.  There  could  be,  she  said,  no  other 
evidence  of  grace.  She  repudiated  a  doctrine  of  works,  and 
she  denied  that  holiness  of  living  alone  could  be  received  as 
evidence  of  regeneration,  since  hypocrites  might  live  outwardly 
as  pure  lives  as  the  saints  do.  The  Puritan  churches  held  that 
sanctification  by  the  will  was  evidence  of  justification. 

For  a  time  people  of  every  condition  were  drawn  into  the 
dispute  about  these  subtleties.  The  Boston  church  divided  upon 
it,  the  greater  number,  however,  siding  with  Mr.  Cotton,  whose 
views  were  understood  to  agree  with  those  maintained  by  Mrs. 
Hutchinson.  From  Boston  it  rapidly  spread  into  the  country, 
but  there,  removed  from  the  potent  personal  magnetism  of  Mrs. 
Hutchinson,  the  clergy  were  better  able  to  withstand  the  move- 
ment that  it  may  be  truly  said  had  carried  Boston  by  storm. 

In  announcing  these  opinions  of  hers,  Mrs.  Hutchinson  freely 
criticised  those  ministers  who  preached  a  covenant  of  works. 
This  embittered  them  toward  her.  Emboldened  by  the  in- 
creasing number  of  her  followers,  she  became  more  and  more 
aggressive,  so  that  the  number  of  her  enemies  was  increasing  in 
proportion  to  that  of  her  proselytes.  The  breach  that  coolness 
and  moderation  might  easily  have  bridged  soon  widened  into 
a  gulf  that  could  not  be  crossed.  Unsuspicious  of  any  danger 
or  that  what  was  said  in  the  privacy  of  her  own  house  was 
being  carefully  treasured  up  against  her,  poor  Mrs.  Hutchinson 
was  led  into  speaking  her  mind  more  freely  as  to  doctrines  and 
persons  than  was  consistent  with  prudence  or  foresight,  so  that 
before  she  was  aware  of  it  what  had  so  far  been  a  harmless  Avar 
of  words,  now  becoming  an  unreconcilable  feud,  burst  forth  into 
a  war  of  factions.     Events  then  marched  rapidly  on. 

Governor  Winthrop  and  Mr.  Wilson,  the  pastor  of  the  church, 


18  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

led  the  opposition  in  Boston.  The  matter  was  first  brought 
before  the  General  Court  upon  a  sermon  preached  by  Mr,  Wheel- 
wright, and  in  this  body  the  country  was  able  to  make  head 
against  the  town.  A  personal  struggle  ensued  between  Winthrop 
and  Vane,  in  which  the  former  was  victorious.  Vane  then  left 
the  country  in  disgust. 

The  party  having  as  it  were  lost  its  head,  made  no  difference 
with  Mrs.  Hutchinson.  She  continued  her  lectures,  undisturbed 
by  the  signs  of  the  approaching  storm,  until  all  the  churches 
could  be  summoned  to  a  general  synod,  which  assembled  in  great 
solemnity  at  Cambridge,  to  sit  in  judgment  upon  the  new  and 
startling  Familistic  doctrines.  This  was  the  first  synod  held  in 
the  western  hemisphere.  Its  deliberations  were  preceded  by 
a  day  of  fasting  and  prayer  throughout  the  Colony.  What  it 
decreed  would  be  sustained  by  the  civil  power. 

The  convocation  was  a  stormy  one.  Three  weeks  were  spent 
in  discussing  the  errors  that  were  formulated  in  the  indictment 
presented  to  it.  Perceiving  the  drift  toward  persecution,  some 
of  the  members  for  Boston  Avithdrew  in  disgust.  The  Synod 
finished  by  condemning  as  heresies  all  of  the  eighty  odd  points 
covering  the  new  opinions,  thus  bringing  them  within  the  pale 
of  the  law.  Mr.  Cotton  was  either  too  weak  or  too  politic  to 
withstand  the  pressure  brought  to  bear  upon  him,  and  he  gave 
a  qualified  adhesion  to  the  proceedings. 

Being  thus  backed  by  the  whole  spiritual  power  of  the  Colony, 
the  Winthrop  party  no  longer  hesitated  to  use  severe  measures. 
Mr.  Wheelwright  was  first  called  before  the  Court,  to  be  sum- 
marily sentenced  to  disfranchisement  and  banishment.  No 
one  pretends  that  lie  Avas  not  an  able,  pure,  and  upright  man. 
Others  of  Mrs.  Hutchinson's  adherents  received  various  sen- 
tences. Then  the  priestess  and  prophetess  herself  was  arraigned 
at  the  bar  as  a  criminal  of  the  most  dangerous  kind. 

The  proceedings  at  this  trial  are  preserved  in  the  '•  History  of 
Massachusetts  under  the  Colony  and  Province,"  of  which  Gov- 
ernor Hutchinson,  the  descendant  of  the  persecuted  Anne,  is  the 
author.     They  arc  voluminous.     Winthrop,  wlio  presided,  first 


MISTKESS   ANNE    HUTCHINSON.  IQ 

catechised  her.  She  answered  him  boldly,  but  with  dignity. 
Then  Bradstreet,  and  then  Dudley,  the  deputy-governor,  took 
turns  m  trying  to  extort  from  her  some  damaging  admission 


Neither  succeeded.  Governor 
Wmthrop  alloAvs  as  much  Avhen 
u&mg  this  extraordinary  lan- 
guage toward  the  prisoner  who 
i  lb  defending  herself  single- 
handed  against  a  multitude  of 
prosecutors  : 

"It  is  well  discerned   to  the 
Court  that  Mrs.  Hutchinson  can 
tell  when  to  speak  and  when  to  hold  her  tongue.      Upon  the 


20  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

auswering  of  a  question  wliicli  we  desire  ber  to  tell  her  thoughts 
of,  she  desires  to  be  pardoned." 

Anne  Hutchinson  did  not  fall  into  the  snare.  She  replied  : 
"  It  is  one  thing  for  me  to  come  before  a  public  magistracy  and 
there  to  speak  what  they  would  have  me  to  speak,  and  another 
when  a  man  comes  to  me  in  a  way  of  friendship,  privately ; 
there  is  difference  in  that." 

Six  of  the  foremost  ministers  in  the  Colony,  among  whom 
were  the  Apostle  Eliot  and  the  subsequently  famous  Hugh 
Peters,  then  gave  evidence  that  she  had  told  them  they  were 
not  able  ministers  of  the  jS'ew  Testament,  and  that  they  preached 
a  covenant  of  works.  Only  Mr.  Shepard,  of  the  Cambridge 
church,  spoke  of  her  considerately ;  the  rest  had  steeled  them- 
selves against  her. 

Mrs.  Hutchinson  gave  a  plump  denial  to  some  things  that 
these  ministers  had  alleged,  and  then  she  prudently  asked  that 
they  might  be  required  to  give  their  evidence  under  oath,  in 
a  case  touching  her  personal  liberty  as  this  did.  To  this  the 
Governor  strongly  demurred ;  but  Mrs.  Hutchinson  stoutly  main- 
taining her  right,  she  finally  prevailed.  From  a  score  or  more 
of  accusers,  the  number  of  ministers  who  were  wilhng  to  swear 
was  thus  reduced  to  three. 

The  only  persons  who  spoke  for  her  were  silenced  by  being 
browbeaten.  Her  fate  was  determined  when  the  Court  assem- 
bled. Mr,  Cotton  defended  her  weakly  and  equivocally.  Mr. 
Coddington  most  valiantly,  but  to  as  little  purpose.  Seeing 
how  the  case  was  going  against  her,  he  spoke  up  hotly  while 
smarting  under  a  rebuke  just  administered  by  the  President : 

"  I  beseech  you  do  not  speak  so  to  force  things  along,  for  I 
do  not,  for  my  own  part,  see  any  equity  in  all  your  proceedings. 
Here  is  no  law  of  God  tliat  she  hath  broken,  nor  any  law  of  the 
country,  and  therefore  deserves  no  censure.  And  if  she  say  that 
the  elders  preach  as  the  apostles  did  (before  the  Ascension),  why 
they  preached  a  covenant  of  grace,  and  what  wrong  is  that  to 
them  ? " 

Governor  "Winthrop  then  pronounced  sentence  of  banishment 


MISTRESS    ANNE   HUTCHINSON.  21 

against  the  woman  who,  as  Coddington  truly  said,  "  had  broken 
no  law  either  of  God  or  of  man." 

This  mockery  of  a  trial,  in  which  the  judges  expounded 
theology  instead  of  law,  and  in  which  no  rule  of  evidence  was 
respected  until  the  prosecutors  were  shamed  into  allowing  the 
prisoner's  demand  that  her  accusers  should  be  sworn,  was  now 
ended.  Pending  the  further  order  of  the  Court,  Mrs.  Hutchin- 
son was  delivered  into  the  custody  of  Mr.  Joseph  Weld,  of 
Roxbury.  She  had  still  another,  probably  a  harder,  trial  to  go 
through  with,  when  the  Boston  church  of  which  she  was  a 
member,  and  which  had  so  lately  applauded  and  caressed  her, 
sat  in  judgment  upon  her  and  excommunicated  her.  Her  hus- 
band then  sold  all  his  property,  and  removed  with  his  family 
to  the  Island  of  Aquidneck,  as  did  many  others  whose  opinions 
had  brought  them  under  the  censure  of  the  governing  powers. 
Mr.  Hutchinson  nobly  stood  by  his  wife  to  the  last.  When  a 
committee  of  the  Boston  church  went  to  Ehode  Island  for  the 
purpose  of  endeavoring  to  bring  these  lost  sheep  back  into  the 
fold,  he  told  them  that  he  accounted  his  wife  "a  dear  saint 
and  servant  of  God." 

The  triumphant  opposition  now  carried  matters  with  a  heavy 
hand.  Winthrop  strenuously  exerted  himself  to  crush  Mrs. 
Hutchinson's  followers.  In  consequence  of  this  a  great  number 
of  the  principal  inhabitants  of  Boston  who  had  become  involved 
in  these  troubles,  and  who  were  now  deprived  of  their  political 
privileges  as  a  punishment  therefor,  also  removed  to  Rhode 
Island.  Of  these  Coddington  and  Dummer  had  been  assist- 
ants or  counsellors  ;  Hutchinson,  Coggeshall,  and  Aspinwall  were 
representatives.  Ranisford,  Sanford,  Savage,  Eliot,  Easton,  Ben- 
dall,  and  Denison,  were  all  persons  of  distinction.  About  sixty 
others  were  disarmed.  These  exiles,  having  purchased  the  island 
of  the  Indians,  were  the  first  to  found  a  civil  government  there. 
And  thus  did  the  stone  which  the  builders  rejected  become  the 
head  of  the  corner. 

The  rest  of  Mrs.  Hutchinson's  history  is  briefly  told.  After 
the  death  of  her  husband,  which  happened  five  years  later,  she 


22  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

again  removed  with  ber  i'auiily  into  the  Dutch  territory  of  New- 
Netherlands,  settling  near  what  is  now  Xew  Eochelle.  During 
the  following  year  her  house  was  suddenly  assaulted  by  hostile 
Indians,  who,  in  their  revengeful  fury,  murdered  the  whole 
family,  excepting  only  one  daughter,  who  was  carried  away  into 
captivity. 

Mrs.  Hutchinson's  offence  consisted  in  using  the  great  intel- 
lectual powers  with  which  she  was  undeniably  gifted  for  solving 
the  problem  of  her  own  life.  Her  enemies  vanquished,  but  they 
could  not  convince,  her.  It  is  not  denied  that  she  was  a  pure 
woman,  an  affectionate  wife  and  mother,  to  the  poor  a  bene- 
factor, and  to  her  convictions  of  Christian  duty  conscientious 
and  faithful  to  the  last.  To  succeeding  generations  she  is  an 
amazing  example  of  the  intolerance  existing  in  her  day. 


THE   DEATH   OF   RAINSBOROUGH. 

1648. 

THE  civil  wars  in  England  preceding  the  dethronement  and 
death  of  Charles  I.  opened  an  alluring  field  for  reaping 
individual  renown  which  many  adventurous  Xew  Englanders 
hastened  to  enter.  It  was  there  in  New  England,  if  anywhere, 
that  the  revolt  against  the  crushiiig  tyranny  from  which  thou- 
sands had  fled  should  find  its  legitimate  echo.  Moreover,  an 
appeal  to  arms  had  become  the  dream  of  many  of  the  enthusias- 
tic young  men  of  this  martial  age.  No  sooner,  therefore,  had  the 
sword  been  drawn,  than  these  men  of  New  England,  taking 
their  Geneva  Bibles  and  their  Spanisli  rapiers  in  their  hands, 
enrolled  themselves  under  the  banners  of  the  Parliament,  and 
some  of  them  carved  with  their  good  blades  an  enduring  record 
upon  the  history  of  the  time. 

Foremost  among  these  volunteers  for  the  Puritan  cause  was 
William  Rainsborough,  who  lived  here  in  1639,  and  was,  with 


THE    DEATH    OF    RAINSBOEOUGH.  23 

Robert  Sedgwick  and  Israel  Stoughton,  then  a  member  of  the 
Honorable  Artillery  Company  of  Boston.  Rainsborough  had 
speedily  risen  to  be  colonel  of  a  regiment  in  the  Parliamentary 
army,  in  which  this  Stoughton  was  lieutenant-colonel,  JSTehemiah 
Bourne,  a  Boston  shipwright,  major,  and  John  Leverett,  after- 
wards governor,  a  captain ;  William  Hudson,  supposed  to  be 
also  of  Boston,  was  ensign.  A  son  of  Governor  Winthrop  also 
served  Avith  credit  in  these  same  wars,  and  in  New  England 
the  having  furnished  one  of  Oliver's  soldiers  was  long  one  of 
the  most  valued  of  family  traditions. 

Rainsborough  owed  his  rapid  advancement  to  the  distinguished 
gallantry  that  he  displayed  in  the  field,  as  well  as  to  his  zeal 
for  the  cause,  both  of  which  qualifications,  so  essential  in  the 
Puritan  soldier,  earned  for  him  the  warm  friendship  of  Crom- 
well, with  whom  he  Avas  thoroughly  one  in  spirit.  Indeed  he 
appears  to  have  held  political  sentiments  quite  as  advanced  as 
those  of  his  great  leader.  We  find  him  sustaining  positions  of 
high  trust  both  in  camp  and  council,  always  with  ability,  and 
always  with  credit  to  himself  and  his  patron. 

In  the  memorable  storming  of  Bristol,  then  held  by  Prince 
Rupert,  Rainsborough  commanded  a  brigade  which  was  posted 
in  front  of  the  strongest  part  of  the  enemy's  line  of  defence. 
The  duty  of  assaulting  this  position  fell  to  him.  Cromwell  tells 
how  it  was  performed,  in  an  official  letter  written  from  Bristol 
immediately  after  the  surrender  of  the  place. 

"Colonel  Rainsborough's  post  was  near  to  Durham  Down, 
whereof  the  dragoons  and  three  regiments  of  horse  made  good  a 
post  upon  the  Down,  between  him  and  the  River  Avon,  on  his 
right  hand.  And  from  Colonel  Rainsborough's  quarters  to 
Froom  River,  on  his  left,  a  part  of  Colonel  Birch's  and  the 
whole  of  General  Skippon's  regiment  Avere  to  maintain  that 
post." 

The  signal  for  storming  being  given,  the  Parliamentary 
troops  advanced  with  great  resolution  against  the  enemy's  whole 
line,  and  were  suddenly  in  possession  of  the  greater  portion 
of  it. 


24  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

"During  this,"  says  the  General,  "Colonel  Eainsborough  and 
Colonel  Hammond  attempted  Pryor's  Hill  Fort  and  the  line 
downward  towards  Froom;  and  the  major-general's  regiment 
being  to  storm  towards  Froom  Eiver,  Colonel  Hammond  pos- 
sessed the  line  immediately,  and  beating  the  enemy  from  it, 
made  way  for  the  horse  to  enter.  Colonel  Eainsborough,  who 
had  the  hardest  task  of  all  at  Pryor's  Hill  Fort,  attempted  it, 
and  fought  near  three  hours  for  it.  And  indeed  there  was  great 
despair  of  carrying  the  place,  it  being  exceedingly  high,  a  ladder 
of  thirty  rounds  scarcely  reaching  the  top  thereof;  but  his  reso- 
lution was  such  that,  notwitlistanding  the  inaccessibleness  and 
difficulty,  he  would  not  give  it  over.  The  enemy  had  four 
pieces  of  cannon  upon  it,  which  they  plied  with  round  and  case 
shot  npon  our  men;  his  lieutenant,  Colonel  Bowen  (Bourne), 
and  others  were  two  hours  at  push  of  pike,  standing  upon  the 
palisades,  but  could  not  enter.  But  now  Colonel  Hammond 
bein'f  entered  the  line  ...  by  means  of  this  entrance  of  Colonel 
Hammond,  they  did  storm  the  fort  on  that  part  which  was 
inward  ;  and  so  Colonel  Eainsborough's  and  Colonel  Hammond's 
men  entered  the  fort,  and  immediately  put  almost  all  the  men 
in  it  to  the  sword." 

For  his  resolute  bravery  on  this  occasion  Ptaiusborough  was 
one  of  the  officers  deputed  by  Fairfax  to  receive  the  surrender 
of  the  place. 

Eainsborough  subsequently  acted  as  one  of  the  commissioners 
from  the  Army,  with  Treton  and  Hammond,  to  treat  with  the 
King,  and  he  was  also  one  of  the  officers  who  stirred  up  in  the 
Army  that  spirit  of  discontent  with  the  half  measures  of  Parlia- 
ment which,  bursting  out  into  open  revolt,  paved  the  way  to  its 
final  and  humiliating  downfall. 

When  the  insurrection  immediately  preceding  the  second 
civil  Avar  broke  out,  Eainsborough  was  in  command  and  on 
board  of  the  English  fleet,  and  he  is  then  called  Admiral 
Eainsborough.  It  is  well  known  that  the  sailors  embraced, 
almost  to  a  man,  the  Royalist  side.  They  put  their  Admiral  on 
shore,  and  then  hoisted  sail  for  Holland  and  the  young  Prince 


THE   DEATH   OF   KAINSBOROUGH.  25 

of  Wales.     Rainsborough  then  Aveut  up  to  London,   presently 
receiving  orders  to  go  upon  his  last  service,  into  Yorksliire. 

It  was  in  the  year  1648  that  the  Yorkshire  Royalists,  who 
had  been  living  in  quiet  since  the  first  war,  were  again  excited 
by  intelligence  of  Duke  Hamilton's  intended  invasion.  A  plan 
was  laid  and  successfully  carried  out  by  them  to  surprise  Pom- 
fret  Castle  (sometimes  called  Pontefract),  the  greatest  and 
strongest  castle  in  all  England,  then  held  by  Colonel  Cotterel  as 
governor  for  the  Parliament.  It  was  then  victualled  to  with- 
stand a  long  siege.  The  Castle  was  soon  besieged  by  Sir  Edward 
Rhodes  and  Sir  Henry  Cholmondley  with  five  thousand  regular 
troops,  but  the  royal  garrison  stubbornly  held  out  for°  the 
King. 

It  being  likely  to  prove  a  tedious  affair,  General  Rainsborough 
was  sent  from  London  by  the  Parliament  to  put  a  speedy  end 
to  it.  He  pitched  his  headquarters  for  the  moment  at  Don- 
caster,  twelve  miles  from  Pomfret,  with  twelve  hundred  foot 
and  two  regiments  of  horse. 

The  Castle  garrison  having  in  some  way  learned  of  Hamilton's 
disastrous  defeat  at  Preston,  that  he  was  in  full  retreat  for  Scot- 
land, and  that  Sir  Marmaduke  Langdale,  who  commanded  the 
English  in  that  battle,  was  a  prisoner,  formed  the  bold  design 
of  seizing  General  Rainsborough  in  his  camp  and  holding  him 
as  a  hostage  for  Sir  Marmaduke;  for  it  was  clear  enough  that  the 
principal  actors  in  this  unlucky  rising  would  now  be  in  o-reat 
peril  of  losing  their  heads  on  the  charge  of  high  treason.  The 
scheme  seemed  all  the  more  feasible  because  the  General  and 
his  men  were  under  no  apprehension  of  any  surprise ;  the  Castle 
being  twelve  miles  distant,  closely  besieged,  and  being  moreover 
now  the  only  garrison  held  for  the  King  in  all  England. 

The  plan  was  shrewdly  laid,  favored  by  circumstances,  and 
was  completely  successful,  except  that  instead  of  bringing  the 
General  off  as  a  prisoner,  they  killed  him.  With  twenty-two 
picked  men,  all  bold  riders  and  well  mounted,  Captain  William 
Paulden  penetrated  through  the  besiegers'  lines  into  Doncaster 
undiscovered.      The   guards   were    immediately    assaulted    and 


THE    DEATH   OF   RAINSBOROUGH.  27 

dispersed,  while  a  party  of  four  troopers  made  direct  for  the 
General's  lodgings.  At  the  door  they  were  met  by  his  lieutenant, 
who,  upon  their  announcing  that  they  had  come  with  despatches 
from  General  Cromwell,  conducted  them  to  the  chamber  where 
Rainsborough  was  in  bed.  While  the  General  was  opening 
the  false  despatch,  which  contained  nothing  but  blank  paper, 
the  King's  men  told  him  that  he  was  their  prisoner,  but  that 
not  a  hair  of  his  head  should  be  touched  if  he  went  quietly 
along  with  them.  They  then  disarmed  his  lieutenant,  who  had 
so  innocently  facilitated  their  design,  and  brought  both  the 
General  and  him  out  of  the  house.  A  horse  stood  ready  saddled, 
which  Rainsborough  was  directed  to  mount.  He  at  first  seemed 
willing  to  do  so,  and  put  his  foot  in  the  stirrup ;  but  upon  look- 
ing about  him  and  seeing  only  four  enemies,  while  his  lieutenant 
and  a  sentinel  (whom  they  liad  not  disarmed)  were  standing  by 
him,  he  suddenly  pulled  his  foot  out  of  the  stirrup  and  cried 
out,  "  Arms  !  Arms  !  " 

Upon  this,  one  of  his  enemies,  letting  fall  his  sword  and  pis- 
tol, —  for  the  object  was  to  take  the  General  alive,  —  caught 
hold  of  Rainsborough,  who  grappled  fiercely  with  him,  and  both 
fell  struggling  to  the  ground.  The  General's  lieutenant  then 
picked  up  the  trooper's  pistol,  but  was  instantly  run  through 
the  body  by  Paulden's  lieutenant  while  he  was  in  the  act  of 
cocking  it.  A  third  then  stabbed  Rainsborough  in  the  neck  ; 
yet  the  General  gained  his  feet  with  the  trooper's  sword,  with 
whom  he  had  been  struggling,  in  his  hand.  Seeing  him  deter- 
mined to  die  rather  than  be  taken,  the  lieutenant  of  the  party 
then  passed  his  sword  through  his  body,  when  the  brave  but 
ill-fated  Rainsborough  fell  dead  upon  the  pavement  of  the 
courtyard. 


28 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


THE   CASE   OF   MISTRESS   ANN   HIBBINS. 


"  r  I  1HE  devil  is  in  it !  "     Is  not  this  pithy  expression,  we  in- 
-L      quire,  a  surviving  memento  of  the  dark  day  of  super- 
stition, when  everything  that  was  strange  or  inexplicable  was  by 
common  consent  referred  to  the  devices  of  the  Evil  One  1 

It  would  be  both  interesting  and  instructive  further  to  ask 
if  there  are  still  people  who  regard 
spilling  the  salt,  beginning  a  journey 
on  Friday,  breaking  a  looking-glass,  or 
sitting  witli  thirteen  at  the  table,  as 
things  of  evil  omen,  to  be  scrupulously 
avoided ;  or  whether  they  would  be 
willing  to  admit  that  hanging  a  charm 
about  a  cliild's  neck,  setting  a  hen  on 
an  odd  number  of  eggs,  putting  trust 
m  a  rusty  horseslioe,  or  seeing  the 
moon  over  a  particular  shoulder, — 
to  say  nothing  of  dreams,  signs,  or 
haunted  houses,  —  are  neither  more 
nor  less  than  so  many  indications  of 
the  proneness  of  our  nature  to  admit 
the  supernatural.  Xor  is  it  so  long 
ago  since  people  were  living  in  the 
rural  towns  of  Xew  England  who  could  remember  reputed 
witches,  and  what  dread  they  inspired  in  the  minds  of  the 
ignorant  or  the  timid.  Upon  looking  back  over  the  ground 
that  the  enhghtenment  of  the  age  has  conquered,  one  is  half 
inclined  to  say  that,  in  some  form  or  other,  superstition  will  be 
about  the  last  thing  eradicated  from  the  human  mind.  It  is  in 
order  to  enable  the  reader  fairly  to  make  the  comparison  of  his 


NIGHT   WATCHMAX. 


MRS.    ANN    HIBBINS.  29 

own  with  a  remote  time  that  we  offer  him  these  hints  before 
beginning  our  story  about  Mrs.  Hibbins. 

The  little  that  can  be  recovered  concerning  this  most  unfor- 
tunate woman,  of  whom  we  would  gladly  know  more  than  we 
do,  puts  any  connected  account  of  her  out  of  the  question. 
Our  curiosity  is  strongly  piqued,  only  to  be  unsatisfied  at  last 
by  a  perusal  of  the  few  meagre  scraps  that  have  the  seal  of 
authenticity  upon  them.  Nor  is  it  at  all  probable  that  it  ever 
will  be  satisfied. 

We  simply  know  that  Mrs.  Ann  Hibbins,  the  aged  widow  of 
a  merchant  of  note,  the  reputed  sister  of  the  Deputy-Governor 
of  the  Colony,  was  tried,  convicted,  and  suffered  death  at  Boston 
in  the  year  1656  for  being  a  witch.  This  relationship  by  blood 
and  marriage  announces  a  person  of  superior  condition  in  life, 
and  not  some  wretched  and  friendless  hag  such  as  is  associated 
with  the  popular  idea  of  a  witch.  It  supposes  her  to  have  had 
connections  powerful  enough  to  protect  her  in  such  an  extremity 
as  that  of  life  or  death  in  which  she  was  placed.  But  in  her 
case  it  is  clear  that  they  were  powerless  to  stay  the  final  execu- 
tion of  the  horrid  sentence,  which  was  carried  into  effect,  with 
all  its  revolting  details,  according  to  the  decree  of  the  Court. 

To  be  censorious  is  easy  here.  Such  a  tale  of  horror  is  in 
fact  a  shock  to  all  our  preconceived  notions  of  the  solid  wis- 
dom and  well-balanced  judgments  characterizing  our  ancient 
lawgivers.  Still,  when  kings  wrote  learned  treatises,  ministers 
preached,  and  poets  rhymed  about  it,  —  when  the  penal  statutes 
of  all  civilized  States  recognized  and  punished  it  as  a  crime,  — 
people  of  every  condition  may  well  be  pardoned  for  putting  full 
faith  in  witchcraft  as  a  thing  belonging  to  the  category  of  in- 
contestable facts,  admitted  by  the  wisest  and  holiest  men,  and 
punished  as  such  by  the  ordinances  of  God  and  man.  What  is  the 
wonder,  then,  that  they  dealt  with  it  as  a  fact  1  For  our  own 
part,  in  order  that  we  may  understand  this  deplorable  tragedy, 
and  that  full  justice  may  be  done  to  the  actors  therein,  it  is 
indispensable  first  candidly  to  admit  all  that  this  strange  be- 
lief in  witchcraft  implied  from  their  point  of  view.     We  may 


30  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

lament  their  ignorance,  but  we  should  be  slow  to  condemn  them 
for  being  no  wiser  than  their  own  generation. 

Such  a  state  of  things  being  imagined,  one  easily  sees  why 
the  men  who  were  wisest  and  strongest  in  every  other  emer- 
gency simply  lost  their  heads  when  confronting  this  terrible 
bugbear  that  kept  the  imagination  continually  upon  the  stretch, 
that  was  a  lurking  terror  in  every  household,  and  that  by  expos- 
ing them,  as  they  fully  believed,  to  all  the  crafts  and  assaidts  of 
the  Devil  (their  own  friends  and  neighbors  being  the  instru- 
ments), held  their  intellect  in  abject  bondage.  Against  such 
insidious  attacks  as  these  there  was  no  good  defence.  Hence 
the  notion  of  a  witch  was  like  that  of  a  serpent  in  the  house 
whose  sting  is  mortal.  No  wonder  it  was  the  one  thing  capable 
of  chasing  the  color 

From  cheeks  that  never  changed  in  woe, 
And  never  blanched  iu  fear. 

This  case  of  Mrs.  Hibbins  is  further  interesting  as  being  the 
second  one  that  the  lamentable  annals  of  witchcraft  record,  that 
of  ]\'largaret  Jones,  in  1648,  being  the  first.  The  simple  state- 
ment should  suffice  to  correct  the  belief,  more  or  less  preva- 
lent to-day,  that  the  Salem  outbreak  was  the  beginning,  instead 
of  being  the  tragical  end,  of  the  delusion  in  New  England.  Mrs. 
Hibbins's  cause  is  also  memorable  as  the  first  known  instance  of 
the  General  Court  of  the  Colony  sitting  in  trial  in  a  case  of  life 
and  death.  The  tragedy,  therefore,  lacked  no  element  of  solem- 
nity to  render  it  deeply  impressive. 

Mrs.  Ann  Hibbins  was  the  wife  of  William  Hibbins,  a  wealthy 
and  influential  merchant  of  Boston.  Hutchinso]i  says  that  he 
was  one  of  the  principal  merchants  iu  all  the  Colony.  At  this 
early  day  in  its  history  he  had  served  the  Colony  with  credit, 
first  as  its  agent  in  England,  and  again  as  one  of  the  assistants, 
or  chief  magistrates.  These  important  trusts  denote  the  high 
esteem  in  which  he  was  held,  and  they  confirm  his  admitted 
capacity  for  public  affairs.  A  series  of  unlucky  events,  however, 
brought  such  heavy  losses  upon  him  in  his  old  age  as  seriously 


MISTRESS   ANN    HIBBINS.  31 

to  impair  his  estate ;  but  what  was  perhaps  worse  to  bear,  the 
sudden  change  from  affluence  to  a  more  straitened  way  of  living 
is  alleged  not  only  to  have  soured  his  wife's  naturally  unstable 
temper,  but  to  have  so  far  unsettled  her  mind  that  she  became 
in  turn  so  morose  and  so  quarrelsome  as  to  render  her  odious 
to  all  her  neighbors.  Instead  of  being  softened  by  misfortune, 
she  was  hardened  and  embittered  by  it.  And  it  is  thought  that 
some  of  these  neighbors  were  led  to  denounce  her  as  a  witch,  as 
presently  they  did,  through  motives  of  spite,  or  in  revenge  for 
her  malice  toward,  or  her  abusive  treatment  of,  them. 

It  was  a  credulous  age,  when  the  spirit  of  persecution  was 
easily  aroused.  The  eye  of  the  whole  town  was  presently  turned 
upon  Mrs.  Hibbins.  There  is  little  room  to  doubt  that  she  was 
the  unfortunate  possessor  of  a  sharp  tongue  and  of  a  crabbed 
temper,  neither  of  which  was  under  proper  restraint.  Most 
unfortunately  for  her,  as  it  fell  out,  a  superior  intelligence  and 
penetration  enabled  her  to  make  shrewd  guesses  about  her 
neighbors  and  their  affairs,  which  the  old  wives  and  gossips  be- 
lieved and  declared  no  one  else  but  the  Devil  or  his  imps  could 
have  known  or  told  her  of.  From  dislike  they  advanced  to 
hatred,  then  to  fear,  and  then  it  no  doubt  began  to  be  freely 
whispered  about  that  she  was  a  witch.  Such  a  reputation  would 
naturally  cast  a  fatal  blight  over  her  life.  No  wife  or  mother 
believed  herself  or  her  infant  for  one  moment  safe  from  the 
witch's  detestable  arts,  since  she  might  take  any  form  she 
pleased  to  afflict  them.  Presently,  the  idle  gossip  of  a  neigh- 
borhood grew  into  a  formal  accusation.  How  much  could  be 
made  in  those  days  of  a  little,  or  how  dangerous  it  then  was  to 
exercise  any  gift  like  that  of  clairvoyance  or  mind-reading,  the 
following  fragment  will  make  clear  to  the  reader's  mind.  Upon 
this  point  Mr.  Beach,  a  minister  in  Jamaica,  writes  to  Dr.  Increase 
Mather  as  follows  :  — 

"  You  may  remember  what  I  have  sometimes  told  you  your  famous 
Mr.  Norton  once  said  at  his  own  table,  before  Mr.  Wilson  the  pastor, 
Elder  Penn,  and  myself  and  wife,  etc.,  who  had  the  honour  to  be  his 
guests,  —  that  one  of  your  magistrates'  wives,  as  I   remember,  was 


EXECUTION   OF   MKS.   UIBBINS. 


MISTEESS    ANN   HIBBINS.  33 

hanged  lor  a  witch,  only  for  having  more  wit  than  her  neighbours. 
It  was  his  very  expression,  she  having,  as  he  explained  it,  unhappily 
guessed  that  two  of  her  persecutors,  whom  she  saw  talking  in  the 
street,  were  talking  of  her  ;  which,  proving  true,  cost  her  her  life, 
notwithstanding  all  he  could  do  to  the  contrary,  as  he  himself  told 
us." 

One  can  hardly  read  this  fragment  without  shuddering. 
The  increasing  feeling  of  detestation  and  fear  having  now 
broken  out  into  a  popular  clamor  for  justice  upon  the  witch, 
Mrs.  Hibbins  was  first  publicly  expelled  from  the  communion  of 
her  church,  and  then  publicly  accused  and  thrown  into  prison. 
When  the  prison  door  closed  behind  her,  her  doom  was  sealed. 

Fortunately,  perhaps,  for  him,  for  he  died  a  year  before  this 
bitter  disgrace  sullied  his  good  name,  the  husband  was  not 
alive  to  meet  the  terrible  accusation  or  to  stem  the  tide  setting  so 
strongly  and  so  pitilessly  against  the  wife  whom  he  had  sworn  at 
the  altar  to  love,  cherish,  and  protect.  If  her  brother,  Eichard 
Bellingham,  then  liolding  the  second  place  in  the  Colony,  made 
any  effort  to  save  her,  that  fact  nowhere  appears.  Her  three 
sons,  whom  she  seems  to  have  loved  with  the  affectionate  tender- 
ness of  a  fond  mother,  were  all  absent  from  the  Colony.  Alone, 
friendless,  an  object  of  hatred  to  her  own  neighbors,  her  heart 
may  well  have  sunk  within  her. 

Under  such  distressing  circumstances  was  poor  old  Dame  Hib- 
bins, who  once  held  her  head  so  high,  dragged  from  her  dungeon 
before  the  Court  which  was  to  try  her  as  the  worst  of  criminals 
known  to  the  law.  The  jury,  however,  failed  to  convict  her  of 
any  overt  act  of  witchcraft.  But  she  could  not  escape  thus. 
The  people,  it  is  said,  demanded  her  blood,  and  nothing  short  of 
this  would  satisfy  them.  So  the  magistrates,  having  the  power 
to  set  aside  the  verdict,  obeying  the  popular  voice,  brought 
her  before  the  bar  of  the  General  Court,  where,  in  presence"  of 
the  assembled  wisdom  of  the  Colony,  she  was  again  required  to 
plead  guilty  or  not  guilty  to  being  a  witch.  She  answered  with 
firmness  and  spirit  that  she  was  not  guilty,  and  said  she  was 
willing  to  be  tried  by  God  and  the  Court.  The  evidence  already 
taken  against  her  was  then  read,  witnesses  were  heard,  and  her 


34 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


answers  considered ;  and  the  whole  case  being  then  suhmitted  for 
its  decision,  the  Court  by  its  vote  this  time  found  her  guilty 
of  witchcraft  according  to  the  tenor  of  the  bill  of  indictment. 
Governor  Eudicott,  rising  in  his  place,  then  pronounced  in  open 
court  the  awful  sentence  of  death  upon  the  doomed  woman  for 
a  crime  which  had  no  existence  save  in  the  imagination  of  her 
accusers.  The  warrant  for  her  execution  was  made  out  in  due 
form,  the    fatal    day   was   fixed,  and   the    marshal-general  was. 


THE    OLD    ELM. 


therein  directed  to  take  with  him  "  a  sufficient  guard."  Then 
the  poor,  infirm,  superannuated  old  woman,  as  innocent  as  the 
babe  unborn,  was  led  back  to  prison  a  condemned  felon.  Then 
the  members  of  the  Great  and  General  Court,  satisfied  that  they 
had  done  God's  work  in  hanging  a  witch,  dispersed  in  peace 
to  their  homes,  made  more  secure,  as  they  believed,  by  this  act 
of  justice. 


MISTRESS   ANN    HIBBINS.  35 

As  the  sentence  was  not  carried  into  effect  for  a  whole  year  it 
IS  probable  that  the  intercession  of  friends  may  have  procur'ed 
lor  the  condemned  woman  tins  reprieve.     But  it  could  not  avert 
her  final  doom,  however  it  might  delay  it.     That  was  sealed 
On  the  day  that  she  was  to  suffer  she  made  and  executed   in 
prison  a  codicil  to  her  will,  clearly  disposing  of  all  her  property 
WeT        '  ''^'''  ^'  ^^'  """""^^  P^"''  "^  execution,  and  ther;,' 
The  ''usual  place  of  execution"  being  the  Common,  it  is  a 
traditmn  that  Mrs.   Hibbins,  as  well  as  others  who  suffered  at 
the  hands  of  the  public  executioner,  was  launched  into  eternity 
from  the  branch  of  the  Great  Elm  Tree  that  stood,  until  within 
a  tew  years,  a  commanding  and  venerated  relic  of  the  past,  near 
the  centre  of  this  beautiful  park.     Her  remains  were  shamefully 
violated.     A  search  was  immediately  made  upon  the  dead  body 
of  the  poor  woman  for  the  distinguishing  marks  that  all  witches 
were  supposed  to  have  on  their  persons.     Her  chests  and  boxes 
were  also  ransacked  for  the  puppets  or  images  by  which  their 
victims  were   afflicted,   but   none  were    found.      The   remains 
were  then  probably  thrust  into  some  obscure  hole,  for  the  suf- 
ferer, being  excommunicated  and  a  condemned  witch,  would  not 
be  entitled  to  Christian  burial,  although  she  earnestly  begoed 
this  poor  boon  in  her  will.     Hubbard,  who  writes  nearest  to  the 
event,  says  that  they  who  were  most  forward  to  condemn  Mrs 
Hibbms  were  afterward  observed  to  be  special  marks   for  the 
judgments  of  Divine  Providence. 

And  all  this  really  happened  in  the  good  town  of  Boston  in 
the  year  1656  ! 


36  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


MARY  DYER. 

1659. 


IT  is  a  matter  of  history  that  in  1656  a  people  who  wore  their 
hair  long,  kept  their  hats  on  in  the  public  assemblies,  and 
who  said  "thee"  and  "thou,"  instead  of  "you,"  when  address- 
ing another  person,  made  their  unwelcome  appearance  in  New 
England.  They  were  forthwith  attacked  Avith  all  tlie  energy  of 
a  bitter  persecution. 

When  called  upon  to  speak  out  in  defence  of  their  cruel 
proceedings,  the  Puritan  authorities  declared  their  creed  to  be 
this  :  They  having  established  themselves  in  a  wilderness  in 
order  to  enjoy  undisturbed  their  own  religious  convictions,  held 
it  right  to  exclude  all  others  who  might  seek  to  introduce  dif- 
ferent opinions,  and  therefore  discord,  among  them.  From  this 
it  is  plain  to  see  that  the  idea  of  toleration  had  not  yet  been 
born.  The  further  fact  that  to  this  cruel  and  seltish  policy, 
sternly  persevered  in  to  the  last,  the  Colony  owed  the  loss  of 
most  of  the  political  privileges  that  it  had  hitherto  enjoyed, 
renders  it  one  of  the  stepping-stones  of  history.  Nor  have  tlie 
most  zealous  apologists  for  these  acts  of  the  Puritan  fathers  ever 
been  able  to  erase  the  stain  of  blood  from  their  otherwise  fair 
escutcheon. 

Let  us  recount  a  single  startling  episode  of  this  lugubrious 
history.     Two  words  Avill  explain  the  situation. 

On  both  sides  of  the  ocean  the  Puritan  cry  was  "  freedom  to 
worship  God  as  we  do."  The  persecution  of  Quakers  had 
already  begun  in  England  under  the  austere  rule  of  the  Puritan 
Commonwealth.  They  were  treated  as  weak  fanatics  who 
needed  wholesome  correction,  rather  than  as  persons  dangerous 
to  the  public  weal.  After  this  had  been  some  time  in  progress, 
some  of  tlic  persecuted  Friends  came  over  to  New  England  for 


i 


MARY    DYER. 


37 


an  asylum,  or  out  of  the  frying-pan  into  the  fire.  The  local 
authorities,  urged  on  by  the  whole  body  of  Orthodox  ministers, 
resolved  to  strangle  this  new  heresy  in  its  cradle.  But  they 
had  forgotten  the  story  of  the  dragon's  teeth.  For  every  Quaker 
they  banished,  ten  arose  in  his  place. 


SCOUKGING   A    QUAK£K. 


Among  the  first  Quakers  to  arrive  in  the  Colony  were  two 
women.  And  it  should  be  observed  that  the  women  all  along 
took  as  active  a  part  in  disseminating  the  new  doctrines  as  the 


38  NEW-ENGLANIJ    LEGENDS. 

men  did.  As  was  inevitable,  such  an  abrupt  innovation  upon 
the  settled  convictions  of  the  time  respecting  woman's  place  in 
the  churches  and  in  society,  was  a  moral  shock  to  the  comnni- 
nity  which  quickly  recoiled  upon  the  heads  of  the  oftenders. 

These  intruding  Quakers,  having  announced  themselves  as 
confessors  and  missionaries  of  the  true  faith  of  Christ,  were  all 
presently  put  under  lock  and  key  as  persons  guilty  of  promul- 
gating rank  heresies,  and  as  blasphemers,  and  their  sectarian 
books  were  also  seized  and  committed  to  the  flames  by  the 
common  hangman.  Tlie  Quakers  then  became  violent  and 
aggressive  in  their  turn.  They  retaliated  with  prophesies  of 
evil.  They  freely  denounced  the  judgments  of  Heaveii  upon 
their  oppressors.  One  woman,  seeing  Governor  Endicott  pass 
by  the  prison,  vociferated  from  her  grated  window,  — 

"  Woe  unto  thee  !   thou  art  an  oppressor  !  " 

The  first  comers  were  all  banished,  with  a  stern  admonition 
not  to  return  to  the  Colony.  They  were  })ut  on  shipboard  and 
ordered  to  depart.  And  this,  it  was  hoped,  would  be  the  last  of 
them.  This  was,  in  fact,  the  easiest  way  of  ridding  the  coun- 
try of  them  and  their  errors,  had  these  not  already  taken  root 
in  the  soil  itself.  Then,  as  no  such  law  existed,  one  was  made, 
punishing  any  Quaker  who  might  afterward  come  into  tlie 
jurisdiction.  This  law  imposed  severe  penalties.  Yet,  though 
cruelly  enforced,  it  was  soon  found  inadequate,  the  number  of 
Quakers  increasing ;  and  so,  the  authorities  being  now  at  their 
wits'  end,  another  law,  decreeing  death  to  any  of  that  sect  who 
should  presume  to  return  after  banishment,  was  enacted,  against 
strong  opposition.  There  was,  in  fact,  a  conscience  in  tlie  Colo- 
nial body.  But  the  rulers  could  not  now  retreat  without  admitting 
themselves  vancjuished ;  and  so,  pressing  the  point,  the  "  bloody 
law  "  was  inscribed  upon  the  statute-book  of  the  Colony. 

We  have  now  finished  the  prologue  of  the  drama,  and  it  is 
time  to  introduce  the  real  actors  upon  the  stage. 

Mary  Dyer,  a  comely  and  grave  matron,  then  living  in  llhode 
Island,  was  one  of  those  rare  spirits  who  are  predestined  to 
become  martyrs  and  saints  to  the  faith  that  they  profess. 


MARY   DYEK.  39 

She  and  her  husband,  William  Dyer,  were  originally  inhabi- 
tants of  Boston,  and  members  of  the  church  there,  they  having 
emigrated  from  England  to  the  Colony  in  the  year  1635.  From 
these  incidents  surrounding  Mrs.  Dyer's  career  it  is  clear  that 
both  she  and  her  husband  belonged  to  the  better  class  of  emi- 
grants. She  is  represented  by  Sewel,  the  Quaker  historian,  as 
being  a  person  of  good  family  and  estate,  and  by  Winthrop  as 
a  very  proper  and  fair  woman,  but,  as  he  deprecatingly  adds, 
having  a  "  very  proud  spirit."  In  her,  therefore,  we  have  the 
portrait  of  a  comely  woman  of  fine  presence,  high  spirit,  a  fair 
share  of  education,  and  possessing,  moreover,  a  soul  endowed 
with  the  purpose  of  an  evangelist  or,  at  need,  a  martyr.  Both 
Mrs.  Dyer  and  her  husband  became  early  converts  to  the  pecu- 
liar doctrines  held  by  that  priestess  of  common-sense,  Mrs. 
Anne  Hutchinson,  to  whose  untoward  fortunes  they  continued 
steadfast.  There  was,  in  fact,  a  bond  of  sympathy  between 
these  two  women.  When  Mrs.  Hutchinson  was  excomnmni- 
cated,  young  Mrs.  Dyer  walked  out  of  the  church  with  her  in 
presence  of  the  whole  congregation.  When  she  was  banished, 
Mrs.  Dyer  followed  her  to  Ehode  Island.     This  was  in  1637. 

During  the  excitement  produced  by  the  rapid  spread  of  Mrs. 
Hutchinson's  opinions,  and  by  her  sub.sequent  arrest  and  trial  on 
the  charge  of  heresy,  Mrs.  Dyer  gave  premature  birth,  it  was  said, 
to  a  monster,  which  Winthrop  describes  with  nauseating  minute- 
ness. Losing  sight  of  Mrs.  Dyer  for  nearly  twenty  years,  we 
suppose  her  life  to  have  been  an  uneventful  one, — perhaps  one 
of  unconscious  preparation  and  of  spiritual  growth  for  the  work 
she  was  to  do  and  the  suffering  she  was  destined  to  undergo. 
When  we  next  see  her,  the  comely  young  wife  has  become  a 
middle-aged  matron,  who  is  blindly  obeying  the  command  of  des- 
tiny. She  now  presents  herself  in  the  garb  of  a  Quakeress,  and 
in  company  Avith  professing  Quakers,  to  the  people  of  Boston, 
any  one  of  whom,  by  harboring  her  even  for  a  single  night,  or 
offering  her  a  crust  of  bread,  became  a  breaker  of  the  law,  and 
was  liable  to  a  heavy  penalty  for  so  doing.  She  was  imme- 
diately taken  up  and  thrust  into  the  common  jail,  where  she 


40  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

remained  in  confinement  until  her  husband,  being  apprised  of 
her  arrest,  hastened  to  her  relief.  His  urgent  prayer  for  his 
■wife's  release  was  only  granted  upon  his  giving  bonds  in  a  large 
sum  to  take  her  a-p-ay  out  of  the  Colony,  and  even  then  the 
authorities  further  stipulated  that  she  should  be  permitted  to 
speak  with  no  one  during  the  journey.  Upon  these  conditions 
she  was  conducted  under  guard  beyond  the  settlements. 

In  September,  1659,  in  company  with  William  Robinson, 
Marmaduke  Stevenson,  and  Nicholas  Davis,  Mary  again,  and 
this  time  with  full  knowledge  of  the  peril  of  the  act,  visited 
Boston  for  the  purpose  of  testifying  against  the  iniquitous  laws 
in  force  there,  or,  as  they  declared  it  themselves,  "  to  look  the 
bloody  laws  in  the  face,"  and  to  meet  the  oppressors  of  her 
people,  as  it  were,  in  their  own  stronghold. 

Short  was  the  time  allowed  them.  The  whole  four  were 
quickly  made  prisoners,  and  were  brought  before  the  Court, 
which  passed  sentence  of  banishment,  to  which  the  certain 
penalty  of  death  now  attached,  should  they  return  again.  They 
were  then  released,  and  ordered  to  depart  out  of  the  Colony.  Not 
obeying  this  mandate,  Robinson  and  Stevenson  were  soon  again 
apprehended,  and  were  again  consigned  to  prison,  where  they  were 
used  like  condemned  felons,  being  chained  to  the  floor  of  their 
dungeon.  Within  a  month  Mary  also  became,  for  the  second 
time,  an  inmate  of  the  same  prison,  having  been  recognized  and 
taken  while  standing  in  front  of  it.  By  thu.s  setting  the  law  at 
defiance,  the  trio  were  regarded  as  rushing  upon  a  fool's  fate. 

With  Mary  came  Hope  Clifton,  also  of  Rhode  Island.  The 
declared  purpose  of  the  women  was  to  visit  and  minister  to  the 
Friends  then  lying  in  prison.  The  settled  purpose  of  the  pris- 
oners to  defy  the  law  being  known  to  their  friends,  and  no 
mercy  being  expected  for  them,  several  of  these  came  to  Boston 
in  order  to  assist  in  the  last  act  of  the  tragedy.  One  even 
brought  linen  for  the  sufferers'  shrouds.  AH  this  imparts  a 
highly  dramatic  character  to  the  acts  of  the  resolute  martyrs. 

The  three  prisoners  who  had  thus  forfeited  their  lives  to  the 
law  were,  on  the  20th  of  October,  brought  before  the  Court  of 


MARY    DYER.  41 

Magistrates.  Tlie  incorruptible  but  implacable  Endicott  pre- 
sided. The  ineu  keeping  their  hats  on,  Endicott  ordered  the 
officer  to  pull  them  off.  He  then  addressed  the  prisoners  in  the 
language  of  stern  remonstrance  and  reproof.  He  told  them  that 
neither  he  nor  the  other  magistrates  then  present  desired  their 
death,  but  that  the  laws  must  be  enforced.  All  three  were  con- 
demned to  be  hanged. 

Mrs.  Dyer  heard  her  doom  pronounced  with  serene  composure, 
simply  saying,  — 

"  The  Lord's  will  be  done  !  " 

"  Take  her  away,  marshal,"  commanded  Endicott,  impa- 
tiently. 

"  I  joyfully  return  to  my  prison,"  she  rejoined. 

On  her  -way  back  to  prison,  filled  with  the  exaltation  of  the 
Spirit,  she  said  to  the  marshal,  or  high-sheriff,  who  was  conduct- 
ing her,  "  Indeed,  you  might  let  me  alone,  for  I  would  go  to  the 
prison  without  you." 

"  I  believe  you,  Mrs.  Dyer,"  the  officer  replied  ;  "  but  my 
orders  are  to  take  you  there,  antl  I  must  do  as  I  am  com- 
manded." 

During  tlie  interval  of  a  week  occurring  between  the  sen- 
tence and  the  day  fixed  for  its  execution,  Mrs.  Dyer  wrote  an 
"  Appeal  to  the  General  Court,"  in  which  she  compares  herself 
with  Queen  Esther,  and  her  mission  with  that  of  the  queen  to 
Ahasuerus.  It  is  pervaded  throughout  by  a  simple  and 
touching  dignity.  There  is  not  one  craven  word  in  it,  or  one 
entreating  pardon  or  expressing  a  doubt  of  the  righteousness  of 
her  own  acts.  Calmly  she  rehearses  the  history  of  her  case, 
and  then  concludes  her  appeal,  "  in  love  and  the  spirit  of  meek- 
ness," to  the  justice  and  magnanimity  of  the  Court  which  was 
able  to  set  her  free.  But  if  it  was  heeded,  her  prayer  was 
unanswered.  The  renewed  and  earnest  intercession  of  Mrs. 
Dyer's  husband  and  son  were  alike  ineffectual ;  the  magistrates 
remained  unmoved.  But  it  is  said  that  the  son,  in  the  hope 
of  yet  saving  her,  passed  the  last  night  in  his  mother's  cell, 
beseeching  her  to  abjure,  or  at  least  so  far  to  retract  her  mis- 


42 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


taken  opinions  as  to  give  some  chance  for  hope  that  the  judges 
might  yet  relent,  and  so  commute  her  sentence  of  death  to  ban- 
ishment. History  has  kindly  drawn  the  veil  over  this  scene. 
All  we  know  is  tliat  the  mother  preferred  death  to  dishonor. 

Xor  were  other  ef- 
forts wanting  to  save 
the  condemned  prison- 
ers. Suitors  who  were 
able  to  make  them- 
selves heard  in  the 
council-chamber  and  in 
the  Governor's  closet 
earnestly  labored  to 
prevent  the  consumma- 
tion of  the  crime. 

On  Thursday,  tlie 
27th  of  October,  in  the 
morning,  according  to 
an  ancient  custom,  the 
drummers  of  the  trained 
bands  beat  their  drums 
up  and  down  the 
streets,  to  notify  the 
soldiers    to    get    under 

HAND   EEEL.  ^^^S"       ^^^'^^    ^^^"8  ^^^^ 

time-honored  lecture- 
day,  which  was  also  the  one  usually  appointed  for  holding  pub- 
lic executions,  as  soon  as  the  public  worship  was  over,  the  drums 
were  again  heard,  the  trained  bands  assembled  and  formed  in 
order,  and  were  then  marched  to  the  prison,  where  they  halted. 
Then  the  high-sheriff,  exhibiting  his  warrant,  called  for  the 
bodies  of  the  prisoners  by  name,  their  irons  were  knocked  off  by 
the  jailer,  and,  after  tenderly  embracing  each  other,  they  Avere 
led  forth  to  take  their  places  in  the  ranks  of  the  guard,  Mary 
being  placed  between  the  two  men  who  were  to  suffer  with  her. 
A  great  multitude  had  assembled  to  witness  these  solemn  pro- 


MARY   DYER.  43 

ceediugs.  The  procession  then  moved,  the  prisoners  on  foot, 
the  people  pressing  closely  around  them,  in  order  not  to  lose  a 
word  of  what  they  might  say  ;  but  whenever  the  condemned 
attempted  to  speak,  as  now  and  then  they  did,  the  drummers 
were  ordered  to  heat  their  drums,  and  so  drowned  the  voices  in 
tlie  uproar.  One  sees  here,  as  always,  that  every  tyranny  is 
afraid  of  its  victims.  Hemmed  in  by  armed  men,  and  sur- 
rounded by  a  surging  and  excited  throng,  the  prisoners  walked 
hand  in  hand  all  the  way  to  the  scaffold,  supporting  and  com- 
forting each  other  in  this  most  trying  moment  with  a  sublime 
fortitude.  The  brutal  marshal,  seeing  this,  said  sneeriugly  to 
Mary  :  "  Are  you  not  ashamed,  you,  to  walk  thus  hand  in  hand 
between  two  young  men  1 " 

Unmoved  by  the  taunt,  she  replied  :  "  No ;  this  is  to  me  an 
hour  of  the  greatest  joy  I  could  have  in  this  world." 

The  cortege  having  at  length  reached  the  place  of  execution, 
it  having  marched  by  a  roundabout  way,  —  for  fear,  it  is  said, 
that  a  rescue  might  be  attempted,  —  Mary  and  her  fellow  sufferers 
bid  each  other  a  last  farewell.  Eobinson  first  ascended  the  fatal 
ladder.  While  uttering  his  dying  words,  predicting  a  visitation 
of  divine  Avrath  to  come  upon  his  slayers,  a  harsh  voice  in  the 
crowd  cried  out :  "  Hold  thy  tongue  !  Thou  art  going  to  die 
with  a  lie  in  thy  mouth  !  " 

Stevenson's  last  words  were  these  :"  Be  it  known  unto  all, 
this  day,  that  we  suffer  not  as  evil-doers,  but  for  conscience' 
sake." 

It  was  now  Mary's  turn.  Her  two  dear  friends  were  hanging 
dead  before  her  eyes.  Fearlessly  she  mounted  the  fatal  ladder, 
and  fearlessly  she  submitted  herself  to  the  hangman's  hands. 
She  was  then  pinioned,  blindfolded,  and  the  fatal  noose  placed 
about  her  neck.  All  being  then  ready,  the  crowd  awaited  the 
last  act  in  breathless  suspense,  when  in  the  distance  a  voice  was 
heard  crying  out,  "  Stop  !  She  is  reprieved  !  " 

The  agitation  of  the  spectators  is  something  that  we  can  only 
faintly  conceive.  But  Mary,  it  is  said,  remained  calm  and 
unmoved  through  it  all.     "  Her  feet  being  loosed,"  says  Sewel, 


44  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

"  they  bade  her  come  down.  But  she,  whose  mind  was  ah'eady 
as  it  were  in  heaven,  stood  still,  and  said  she  was  there  willing 
to  sutFer  as  her  brethren  did,  unless  they  would  annul  their 
wicked  law."  She  was  then  taken  down  from  the  scaffold  and 
re-conducted  to  prison,  where  her  son,  who  was  anxiously  await- 
ing her  return,  embraced  her  as  one  risen  from  the  dead.  Only 
then  she  learned  that  to  his  importunity  with  the  magistrates 
she  owed  her  deliverance  from  the  fate  of  her  brethren.  The 
son  had  saved  his  mother.  The  death-sentence  had  been  com- 
muted to  banishment ;  but  Mary  now  received  a  solemn  warning 
to  the  effect  that  the  extreme  penalty  would  surely  be  exacted 
should  she  again  offend  against  the  majesty  of  the  law.  She 
was  then  conducted  under  guard  to  the  Colony  frontier,  whence 
she  pursued  her  way  home  to  Rhode  Island. 

But  the  old  impulse  reviving  in  her  in  full  force,  in  defiance 
of  the  warning  thrice  repeated,  Mary  again  sought  to  obtain  the 
crown  of  martyrdom  to  which  she  was  foreordained.  Burning 
with  fanatical  zeal,  regardless,  too,  of  the  conditions  which  had 
procured  the  remission  of  her  sentence,  she  deliberately  violated 
the  law  again.  In  May,.  1660,  the  unfortunate  woman  had  so 
little  regard  for  her  personal  safety  as  again  to  come  to  "  the 
bloody  town  of  Boston."  She  was  soon  summoned  before  the 
General  Court.  Swift  was  the  judgment,  swift  the  execution. 
Endicott,  indeed,  —  respect  to  his  manhood  for  it !  —  offered 
her  a  chance  of  escape  ;  but  her  soul  was  too  lofty,  her  purpose 
too  strongly  fixed,  to  avail  herself  of  a  subterfuge  to  save  her 
life.  Endicott  conducted  her  examination.  He  was  as  hard  as 
iron,  she  gentle  but  undaunted. 

"  Are  you  the  same  ]\Iary  Dyer  that  was  here  before  1 "  he  began. 

"  I  am  the  same  Mary  Dyer  that  was  here  at  the  last  General 
Court,"  she  replied. 

"  Then  you  own  yourself  a  Quaker,  do  you  not  1 "  said  the 
Governor. 

"  I  own  myself  to  be  reproachfully  called  so." 

Then  the  jailer  spoke  up  and  said  that  Mary  was  a  vaga- 
bond. 


MARY   DYER.  45 

"  I  must  then  repeat  the  sentence  once  before  pronounced 
upon  you,"  said  Endicott. 

Mary  quietly  rejoined  :  "  That  is  no  more  than  what  thou 
saidst  before." 

"  True,"  said  Endicott  sternly,  "  but  now  it  is  to  be  executed  ; 
therefore  prepare  yourself  for  nine  o'clock  to-morrow." 

Mary  then  began  to  speak  of  her  call,  when  the  Governor 
burst  out  with,  — 

"  Away  with  her  !  away  with  her  !  " 

In  great  anguish  of  mind,  he  being  wholly  ignorant  that  she 
meditated  this  fatal  step,  her  husband  wrote  to  the  General 
Court  of  Massachusetts,  once  more  imploring  its  clemency. 
His  entreaties  would  have  moved  a  stone  to  pity.  But  it  was 
now  too  late.  On  the  first  day  of  June  the  solemn  ceremonies 
of  the  previous  October  were  repeated.  The  scaffold  was 
erected  on  Boston  Common,  a  broad  area  of  unoccupied  land 
adjoining  the  town,  then  used  by  the  inhabitants  in  commonage, 
and  on  muster-days  as  a  training-field,  as  weU  as  for  the  place 
of  public  execution. 

At  the  appointed  hour  the  marshal  came  for  her,  and  enter- 
ing without  ceremony  the  cell  where  she  was,  he  roughly  bade 
he'r  make  haste.  Mary,  speaking  to  him  mildly,  asked  a  few 
moments'  delay,  saying  that  she  would  be  ready  presently.  But 
he  rudely  and 'unfeelingly  retorted  that  it  was  her  place  to  wait 
upon  him,  and  not  his  upon  her.  Then  one  of  the  female  pris- 
oners, with  the  instinct  of  her  sex,  ventured  to  expostulate  with 
this  brutal  functionary,  when  he  turned  upon  her  fiercely,  and 
with  threats  and  abuse  silenced  her.  In  fact,  the  Quakeresses 
were  treated  like  vagabonds  and  outcasts. 

The  authorities  having  reason  to  fear  a  popular  tumult,  the 
prisoner  was  taken  strongly  guarded  over  a  circuitous  route  to 
the  fatal  spot,  and  again  her  voice  was  silenced  by  the  rattle  of 
drums  before  and  behind  her.  With  the  birds  innocently  twit- 
tering above  her  head,  once  more  Mary  ascended  the  scaffold 
with  a  firm  step.  Pity  was  not  wholly  extinct.  Some  of  the 
people  present  made  a  last  effort  to  save  her,  but  Mary  woidd 


46  NEW-EXGLAND    LEGENDS. 

not  agree  to  leave  the  country.  To  the  hope  some  expressed 
that  her  hfe  Avould  be  again  spared,  tlie  officer  commanding 
the  armed  escort  roughly  retorted  that  she  was  guilty  of  her 
own  blood. 

"  Nay,"  she  replied,  "  I  came  to  keep  bloodguiltiness  from 
you,  desiring  you  to  repeal  the  unrighteous  and  unjust  law  made 
against  the  innocent  servants  of  the  Lord." 

Mr.  Wilson,  minister  of  Boston,  attended  her  on  the  seaiibld 
in  her  last  moments,  not  to  offer  consolation,  but  to  exhort  her 
to  recant. 

"Mary  Dyer,"  he  exclaimed,  "oh,  repent!  oh,  repent  !  Be 
not  so  deluded  and  carried  away  by  the  deceits  of  the  Devil  ! " 

She  answered  him  in  terms  of  mild  reproof:  "Xay,  man,  I  am 
not  now  to  repent." 

A  colloquy  by  which  her  last  moments  were  embittered  was 
kept  up  on  the  scaffold.  She  was  reproached  for  saying  that 
she  had  been  in  paradise.  She  reiterated  it.  "  Yes,"  said  this 
undaunted  woman,  "I  have  been  in  paradise  several  days." 

The  executioner  then  performed  his  office. 


THE    KING'S   MISSIVE. 


"  Charles  R. 

"Trusty  and  Wellbeloved,  we  greet  you  well.  Having  been 
informed  that  several  of  our  Subjects  among  you,  called  Quakers, 
have  been  and  are  imprisoned  by  you,  whereof  some  have  been  exe- 
cuted, and  others  (as  hath  been  represented  unto  us)  are  in  Danger 
to  undergo  the  Like  :  We  have  thought  fit  to  signify  our  Pleasure 
in  that  Behalf  for  the  future,  and  do  refiuire,  that  if  there  be  any  ot 
those  people  called  Quakers  amongst  you,  now  already  condemned  to 
suffer  Death,  or  other  Corporal  Punishment,  or  that  are  imprisoned, 
or  obno.xious  to  the  like  Condemnation,  you  are  to  forV)ear  to  proceed 
any  farther,  but  that  you  foithwith  send  the  said  Persons  (whether 


THE  king's  missive.  47 

condemned  or  imprisoned)  over  to  this  our  Kingdom  of  England, 
together  with  their  respective  Crimes  or  Offences  laid  to  their  Charge, 
to  the  End  such  Course  may  be  taken  with  them  here,  as  shall  be 
agreeable  to  our  Laws  and  their  Demerits.  And  for  so  doing,  these 
our  Letters  shall  be  your  sufficient  Warrant  and  Discharge.  Given 
at  our  Court  at  Whitehall,  the  9th  day  of  September,  1661,  in  the 
thirteenth  Year  of  our  Reign. 

"  Subscribed,  To  our  Trusty  and  Wellbeloved  John  Endicot,  Esq. ; 
and  to  all  and  every  other  the  Governour  or  Governours  of  our  Plan- 
tation of  New-England,  and  of  the  Colonies  thereunto  Ijelonging,  that 
now  are,  or  hereafter  shall  be  :  And  to  all  and  every  the  Ministers 
and  Officers  of  our  said  Plantation  and  Colonies  whatever,  within 
the  Continent  of  New-England. 

"  By  His  Majesty's  Command. 

"  WiL.  Morris." 

THIS  was  no  common  letter  which  in  November,  1661,  fell 
like  a  bombshell  into  the  wicked  tow^n  of  Boston.  It  was 
certainly  an  alarming  manifesto.  It  brought  a  proud  and  sen- 
sitive people,  who  had  ceased  to  pay  respect  to  loyalty,  and 
had  almost  forgotten  its  forms,  once  more  rudely  to  their  knees. 
And  they  were  a  stern  race,  fearing  God  more  tlian  they  lionored 
the  King.  But  they  felt  tlie  shock  that  had  just  overthrown 
the  Puritan  Commonwealth  ;  and  the  voice  which  rose  from 
among  its  ruins,  commanding  them  to  obey,  sounded  at  tlie 
moment  in  their  ears  very  mucli  like  the  voice  of  God. 

Continued  encroachment  upon  the  prerogative  of  the  throne 
had  doubtless  much  to  do  with  ordering  their  destiny,  —  possi- 
bly as  much  as  had  the  cruelties  practised  toward  the  offending 
Quakers,  to  whose  prayers  for  redress  the  Parliament  had  paid 
little  attention ;  but  with  the  return  of  the  old  monarchy,  its 
likings  and  its  hatreds,  the  politic  Friends  had  hopes  that  the 
easy-going  Charles  would  lend  a  more  gracious  ear  to  them  in 
the  hour  of  his  great  triumph  over  the  Puritan  cause  ;  nor 
would  he  be  found  unwilling  to  lower  the  pride  of  those 
haughty  Puritan  subjects  of  his  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic 
who  were  endeavoring  to  carry  on  a  little  commonwealtli  of 


48 


NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 


their  own.  The  moment  was  indeed  opportune.  Floating  in 
adulation,  Charles  the  king  was  well  disposed  to  clemency 
toward  all  except  those  who  had  kept  him  for  twelve  years 
Charles  the  exile.  The  Quakers  were  on  their  part  strongly 
roused  to  make  renewed  effort,  too,  by  the  news  they  received 
of  the  execution  of  'William  Leddra  at  Boston.  Tlien  Edward 
Burroughs,  a  leading  Friend,  and  a  man  of  action,  entreated  and 
obtained  an  audience  of  the  King. 


ENDICOTT   KECEIVING   TUE    KING  S   ORDER. 


When  he  was  iishered  into  the  presence-chamber  his  first 
words  were, — 

"  Sire,  there  is  a  vein  of  innocent  blood  opened  in  your 
Majesty's  dominions  which,  if  not  stopped,  may  overrun  all." 

"  I  will  stop  that  vein,"  said  the  King,  shortly. 

Burroughs  then  laid  before  the  King  a  detailed  account  of 
what  had  been  done  in  New  England.  After  he  had  listened 
to  the  catalogue  of  scourgings,  brandings,  cropped  ears,  banish- 
ments upon  pain  of  death,  and  lastly  of  tlie  execution  of  four 


THE  king's  missive.  49 

persons  of  this  sect  for  presuming  to  return  to  the  Colony  when 
forbidden  to  do  so,  the  suitor,  turning  accuser,  then  presented  the 
King  with  the  proofs  that  the  New  England  authorities  had 
refused  to  allow  the  Quakers  an  appeal  to  England  when  they 
had  demanded  it.  His  Majesty  is  reported  to  have  taken  great 
notice  of  this  particular  item  of  the  indictment,  calling  out  to 
the  lords  who  were  with  him  to  hear  it,  and  then  exclaiming 
ironically,  — 

"  Lo  !  these  are  my  good  subjects  of  New  England." 

He  then  inquired  when  a  ship  would  be  ready  to  sail  for  New 
England,  and  upon  being  informed,  dismissed  Burroughs,  with 
the  promise  that  he  should  presently  hear  from  him  through  the 
Lord  Chancellor.  This  promise  Charles  punctually  kept.  The 
mandatory  letter  which  precedes  our  account  was  duly  prepared, 
and  then  —  bitterest  pill  of  all  for  the  disloyal  colonists  to  swal- 
lo^y !  —  whom  should  the  King's  minister  select  to  be  the  bearer 
of  it,  but  Samuel  Shattuck,  an  exiled  Quaker,  and  one  who  had 
given  the  New  England  magistrates  no  end  of  trouble,  he  being 
finally  banished  by  them  from  the  Colony  upon  pain  of  death. 
It  will  thus  be  seen  that  nothing  had  been  omitted  that  could 
render  the  humiliation  complete. 

The  London  Friends,  immediately  this  was  done,  chartered 
a  vessel,  of  which  Ealph  Goldsmith,  another  Quaker,  was  cap- 
tain, to  carry  the  King's  order  and  his  messenger  to  Boston. 
In  six  weeks  the  ship  arrived  at  her  destination.  It  being  the 
Sabbath,  all  the  company  remained  quietly  on  board. 

Seeing  a  vessel,  with  an  English  ensign  at  her  peak,  cast 
anchor  in  their  road,  some  of  the  selectmen  of  the  town  hastened 
on  board  to  learn  the  news,  little  dreaming  it,  however,  to  be 
of  so  much  personal  interest  to  themselves.  They  eagerly  asked 
the  captain  if  he  had  brought  any  letters ;  for,  as  may  be  imag- 
ined, intelligence  of  the  events  then  taking  place  in  England  was 
awaited  with  the  utmost  anxiety  and  impatience.  The  master 
replied  that  he  had,  but  he  would  not  deliver  them  on  that  day ; 
and  so  his  visitors  got  into  their  boat  and  went  on  shore  again 
as  wise  as  they  came.  But  in  the  meantime  some  of  them 
4 


50 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


having  recognized  Shattuck  and  others  on  board  as  being 
Quakers,  they  spread  the  report  that  "  Shattuck  and  the  devil 
and  all  had  come  back  again." 

The  next  morning,  armed  with  the  King's  mandate,  Shattuck 
came  on  shore  accompanied  by  Goldsmith,  the  master,  and  they 
two,  after  sending  their  boat  back  to  the  ship,  went  directly 
through  the  town  to  Governor  Endicott's  house,  passing  in  their 


LIBERTY    TREE,    PLANTED    1&46.      BUILDING   ERECTED    1666. 


way  the  market-place  where  so  many  of  their  friends  had  been 
mercilessly  whipped,  and  the  jail  in  which  many  were  still  con- 
fined. A  few  steps  more  would  bring  them  foce  to  face  with 
their  worst  enemy.  They  knew  that  they  were  bearding  the 
lion  when  they  knocked  at  Governor  Endicott's  door. 

The  servant  who  opened  it  asked  what  was  their  business 
with  his  master.     They  bid  him  say  that,  being  charged  with 


THE  king's  missive.  51 

the  commands  of  his   Majesty  the  King,   they  should  deliver 
their  message  into  none  but  the  Governor's  own  hands.     They 
were  then  admitted  without  further  questioning,  and  presently 
the  redoubted  Governor  came  in  to  them  ;  but  upon  perceiving 
that  Shattuck  kept  his  hat  on,  he  commanded  it  to  be  taken 
off,  which  was  done.     Then  having  received  the  deputation  and 
the  papers,  the  Governor  formally  acknowledged  its  official  char- 
acter by  removing  his  own  hat,  and  ordering  that  of  Shattuck 
to  be  given  to  him  again.     Yet  the  man  who  now  stood  before 
him  enjoying  his  moral  degradation  while  protected  by  an  in- 
violable safeguard,   was  the  same  one  whom  he  had  formerly 
sentenced  to  stripes  and  banishment.     The  draught  was  a  bitter 
one,  but  Endicott  bore  himself  with  dignity.     After  this  by- 
play indicating  the  homage  due  to  royalty  and  its  representative, 
the  Governor  read  the  letter,  and  bidding  Shattuck  and  Gold- 
smith to  follow  him,  then  went  to  the  Deputy-Governor's  house, 
wliich  stood  near  his  own,  and  laid  the  papers  before  BeUing- 
ham.      Having   held   some    conference  with   the   Deputy,    the 
nature  of  which  may  easily  be  imagined  from  the  sequel,  the 
Governor  turned  to  the  messengers  and  said  briefly  and  with 
dignity,  — 

"We  shall  obey  his  Majesty's  command." 
After  this  interview  was  ended,  Goldsmith  gave  liberty  to  all 
his  passengers  to  come  on  shore,  which  they  did,  and  afterward 
publicly  held  a  religious  meeting  with  those  of  tlieir  faith  in  the 
town,  -  returning  thanks  to  God  for  his  mercy  manifested  in  this 
most  wonderful  deliverance."  All  such  assemblies  as  this  havin-^ 
been  unlawful,  this  act  announced  the  King's  active  intervention 
in  their  afflxirs  to  the  people.  An  order  soon  after  issued,  releas- 
ing all  Quakers  then  in  custody. 

The  scene  between  Endicott  and  Bellingham  is  imagined  by 
Mr.  Longfellow  in  his  "New  England  Tragedies."  He  there 
endeavors  to  depict  the  characters  of  the  chief  actors,  and  to 
show  the  spirit  of  these  extraordinary  times.  In  this  par- 
ticular field  he  has  therefore  preceded  Mr.  Whittier,  whose 
"King's  Missive,"  prepared  for  the  "Memorial  History  of  Bos- 


52  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

ton,"  deals  exclusively  with  the  events  surrounding  the  order  of 
Charles  II.  The  two  pieces  olfer,  however,  a  striking  contrast 
in  method  as  weU  as  in  style,  one  being  a  consecutive  and  homo- 
geneous narrative,  whUe  the  other  is  made  up  of  separated  inci- 
dents, selected  here  and  there  for  their  dramatic  quality  rather 
than  their  coherence  or  historical  sequence.  Both,  hoAvever, 
have  the  same  purpose  —  eternally  to  set  the  seal  of  condem- 
nation on  a  great  wrong  by  exhibiting  the  Quakers  in  the  light 
of  martyrs.  To  this  end  Mr.  Longfellow  takes  for  his  heroine  a 
young  gii'l,  Edith  Christison  by  name,  who  is  brutally  scourged 
from  town  to  town,  is  then  released,  and  driven  forth  into 
the  wilderness.  Such  was  the  law,  and  such  things  actually 
occurred.  Singularly  enough,  this  is  also  the  motive  of  Mr. 
Whittier's  "Cassandra  Southwick."  In  both  cases  the  youth, 
beauty,  constancy,  and  heroism  of  the  sufferers  strongly  appeal 
to  our  sympathies,  and  are  supposed  deeply  to  move  the  actual 
spectators.  But  with  a  deeper  insight  into  the  human  heart 
Mr.  Longfellow  makes  the  son  of  Governor  Endicott  himself 
fall  in  love  with  Edith,  whose  martyrdom  he  has  witnessed, 
thus  bringing  straight  home  to  the  stern  father  the  consequences 
of  his  own  evil  acts.  The  King's  imperious  mandate  wounds 
his  pride]  his  son's  conduct  strikes  at  the  heart,  and  this 
wound  is  mortal.  Thus  it  is  no  less  strange  than  true  that, 
under  favor  of  one  of  the  most  profligate  and  irreligious  of 
monarchs,  the  beneficent  era  of  religious  toleration  began  its 
unpromising  dawning  in  New  England. 

It  is  to  be  noted  that  whenever  they  can  do  so,  Mr.  Long- 
fellow's characters  speak  in  the  actual  language  of  history. 
Indeed,  the  tragedy  is  not  a  creation,  like  "  Ernani,"  but  a  frag- 
ment of  sober  history,  taken  from  existing  records,  into  which 
a  poetic  feeling  is  infused,  and  whose  episodical  parts  afford 
occasional  glimpses  of  the  author's  genius  shining  like  pure 
guld  in  the  rough  metal. 


THE  king's  missive.  53 


{From  Longfelloivs  "  Neiv  England  Tragedies.") 

Scene  III.    The  Governor's  Private  Room.    Papers  upon  the  table.    Endicott 
and  Bellingham. 


ENDICOTT. 

Thus  the  old  tyranny  revives  again  ! 
Its  arm  is  long  enough  to  reach  ns  here, 
As  you  will  see.     For,  more  insulting  still 
Than  flaunting  in  our  faces  dead  men's  shrouds. 
Here  is  the  King's  Mandamus,  taking  from  us. 
From  this  day  forth,  all  power  to  punish  Quakers. 

BELLINGHAM. 

That  takes  from  us  all  power  ;  we  are  but  puppets, 
And  can  no  longer  execute  our  laws. 


Opens  the  Mandamus  and  hands  it  to  BELLrNOHAM  ;   and  while  he  is  reading, 
Endicott  tvalks  up  and  dotvn  the  room. 

Here,  read  it  for  yourself ;  you  see  his  words 

Are  pleasant  words  —  considerate  —  not  reproachful — 

Nothing  could  be  more  gentle  —  or  more  royal  ; 

But  then  the  meaning  underneath  the  words, 

Mark  that.     He  says  all  people  known  as  Quakers 

Among  us,  now  condemned  to  suffer  death 

Or  any  corporal  punishment  whatever. 

Who  are  imprisoned,  or  may  be  obnoxious 

To  the  like  condemnation,  shall  be  sent 

Forthwith  to  England,  to  be  dealt  with  there 

In  such  wise  as  shall  be  agreeable 

Unto  the  English  law  and  their  demerits. 

Is  it  not  so  '? 

BELLINGHAM  {returning  the  paper). 
Ay,  so  the  paper  says. 


54  NEW-EXGLAND   LEGENDS. 


ENDICOTT. 

I  tell  you,  Richard  Belliugham,  —  I  tell  you, 

That  this  is  the  beginning  of  a  struggle 

Of  which  no  mortal  can  foresee  the  end. 

I  shall  not  live  to  fight  the  battle  for  you, 

I  am  a  man  disgraced  in  every  way  ; 

This  order  takes  from  me  my  self-respect 

And  the  respect  of  others.     'T  is  my  doom, 

Yes,  my  death-warrant,  —  but  must  be  obeyed  ! 

Take  it,  and  see  that  it  is  executed 

So  far  as  this,  that  all  be  set  at  large  : 

But  see  that  none  of  them  be  sent  to  England 

To  bear  false  witness,  and  to  spread  reports 

That  might  be  prejudicial  to  ourselves.       [Exit  Bellingham. 

There 's  a  dull  pain  keeps  knocking  at  my  heart, 

Dolefully  saying,  "  Set  thy  house  in  order. 

For  thou  shalt  surely  die,  and  shalt  not  live  !  " 

For  me  the  shadow  on  the  dial-plate 

Goeth  not  back,  but  on  into  the  dark  !  [Exit. 

Mr.  Whittier's  poem  presents  the  events  Ave  have  recorded 
in  a  harmonious  and  remarkably  picturesque  narrative.  He  is 
conscientiously  faithful  both  to  the  spirit  and  letter  of  the 
subject  itself,  while  to  the  implacable  spirit  of  persecution, 
personified  here  by  Endicott,  he  is  a  generous  and  impartial 
judge.  We  write  it,  nevertheless,  as  a  fact,  that  the  poem 
caused  much  discussion  on  its  first  appearance, — a  discussion 
fully  vindicating  the  Quaker  poet's  adherence  to  the  truth  of 
history.  But  the  prose  and  poetic  versions  are  now  before  the 
reader  for  his  decision. 


THE  KING'S  MISSIVE. 

Under  the  great  hill  sloping  bare 

To  cove  and  meadow  and  Common  lot, 

In  his  council  chamber  and  oaken  chair 
Sat  the  worshipful  Governor  Endicott,  — 


THE  king's  missive.  55 

A  grave,  strong  man,  wlio  knew  no  peer 
In  the  pilgrim  land  where  he  ruled  in  fear 
Of  God,  not  man,  and  for  good  or  ill 
Held  his  trust  with  an  iron  will. 

He  had  shorn  with  his  sword  the  cross  from  out 

The  flag,  and  cloven  the  May-pole  down, 
Harried  the  heathen  round  about, 

And  whipped  the  Quakers  from  town  to  town. 
Earnest  and  honest,  a  man  at  need 
To  burn  like  a  torch  for  his  own  harsh  creed, 
He  kept  with  the  flaming  brand  of  his  zeal 
The  gate  of  the  holy  commonweal. 


The  door  swung  open,  and  Eawson  the  Clerk 

Entered  and  whispered  underbreath  : 
"  There  waits  below  for  the  hangman's  work 

A  fellow  banished  on  pain  of  death,  — 
Shattuck  of  Salem,  unhealed  of  the  whip, 
Brought  over  in  Master  Goldsmith's  ship, 
At  anchor  here  in  a  Christian  port 
With  freight  of  the  Devil  and  all  his  sort !  " 

Twice  and  thrice  on  his  chamber  floor 
Striding  fiercely  from  wall  to  wall, 
"  The  Lord  do  so  to  me  and  more," 

The  Governor  cried,  "  if  I  hang  not  at  all  ! 
Bring  hither  the  Quaker."     Calm,  sedate. 
With  the  look  of  a  man  at  ease  with  fate. 
Into  that  presence  grim  and  dread 
Came  Samuel  Shattuck  with  hat  on  head. 

"  Off  with  the  knave's  hat !  "     An  angry  hand 

Smote  down  the  offence ;  but  the  wearer  said. 
With  a  quiet  smile  :  "  Cy  the  King's  command 

I  bear  his  message  and  stand  in  his  stead." 
In  the  Governor's  hand  a  missive  he  laid 
With  the  Royal  arms  on  its  seal  displayed, 
And  the  proud  man  spake  as  he  gazed  thereat, 
Uncovering,  "  Give  Mr.  Shattuck  his  hat." 


56  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

He  turned  to  the  Quaker,  bowing  low  : 
"  The  King  commandeth  your  friends' 
Doubt  not  he  shall  be  obeyed,  although 

To  his  subjects'  sorrow  and  sin's  increase. 
What  he  here  enjoineth  John  Endicott 
His  loyal  servant  questioneth  not. 
You  are  free  !  —  God  grant  the  spirit  you  o\vn 
May  take  you  from  us  to  parts  unknown." 


THE   QUAKER  PROPHETESS. 

1677. 

THE  Old  South  Church  in  Boston  —  not  the  present  build- 
ing, but  the  one  first  erected  upon  the  same  spot  —  w^as 
the  scene  of  an  event  without  a  parallel  in  the  annals  of  our 
Puritan  churches,  in  some  of  which,  nevertheless,  remarkable 
scenes  had  occurred. 

To  the  simple  and  austere  Quaker  manners,  outdoing  even 
Puritan  ideas  of  moral  and  physical  self-restraint,  now  and  then 
comes  the  unexpected  contrast  of  theatrical  climax  in  its  most 
bizarre  forms.  So  the  early  history  of  the  Friends  in  New 
England  shows  the  dominant  principle  of  passive  opposition  to 
persecution  occasionally  giving  way,  all  at  once,  to  an  aggressive 
spirit  that  impelled  the  actors  on  through  thorny  ways  toward 
the  goal  for  which  they  strove  and  struggled.  If,  now  and  then, 
one  half  crazed  by  suffering  was  betrayed  into  some  act  of  folly, 
it  is  surely  not  a  matter  for  astonishment  or  exultation.  Their 
annals  present  the  names  of  no  informers  and  no  apostates. 

Obeying  the  command  of  a  hallucination  to  which  she  bowed 
as  if  if  were  a  divine  behest,  the  Quakeress  Deborah  Wilson 
had  walked  naked  through  the  streets  of  Salem  "  as  a  sign  of 
spiritual  nakedness  in  town  and  country,"  and  for  so  doing  she 
was  most  uncharitably  whipped  with  thirty  stripes.  Again, 
Lydia  Wardwell,  who  is  called   "  a  young  and  tender  chaste 


THE   QUAKEK   PKOPHETESS.  57 

person,"  for  startling  the  congregation  of  Newbury  by  walking 
into  the  meeting-house  there,  unclothed,  in  the  time  of  public 
worship,  was  tied  up  to  the  fence-post  of  the  tavern  where  the 
court  sat,  at  Ipswich,  to  undergo  a  similar  punishment. 

But  the  case  of  Margaret  Brewster  differs  from  these  others  in 
that  a  number  of  persons  took  part  in  carrying  out  what  it  was 
expected  would  strike  terror  to  the  hearts  of  the  beholders,  and 
to  this  end  it  was  conducted  with  studied  attention  to  dramatic 
effect. 

One  quiet  Sabbath  morning  in  July,  1677,  accompanied  by 
several  of  the  most  noted  persons  of  her  sect,  both  male  and 
female,  Margaret  Brewster  presented  herself  at  the  door  of  the 
Old  South  Meeting-house  in  sermon-time,  the  strangest  visitor 
that  had  ever  crossed  its  consecrated  threshold.  She  first  took 
off  her  riding-habit  and  her  shoes  and  stockings,  and  then 
entered.  In  his  Diary,  which  perhaps  may  become  as  famous 
as  that  of  the  immortal  Pepys,  Judge  Sewall  notes  that  while 
the  congregation  was  listening  to  the  words  of  the  sermon  from 
the  aged  pastor's  lips,  there  suddenly  was  seen  the  apparition 
of  a  woman  walking  slowly  up  the  broad  aisle  between  two 
men,  while  two  others  walked  behind.  The  woman  was  bare- 
footed, her  head  was  sprinkled  with  ashes,  her  loosened  hair 
straggled  wildly  down  about  her  neck  and  shoulders,  her  face 
was  besmeared  with  soot,  and  she  wore  a  sackcloth  gown  loosely 
gathered  around  her  person.  This  appearance,  says  the  indig- 
nant diarist,  "  occasioned  the  greatest  and  most  amazing  uproar 
that  ever  I  saw." 

No  one  has  told  us,  but  we  can  imagine  the  congregatio:i 
rising  in  consternation  to  their  feet,  the  sudden  stop  in  the 
sermon,  the  moment  of  silence,  like  the  calm  before  the  storm, 
during  which  the  dark  prophetess  delivered  her  solemn  warning 
of  a  grievous  calamity  shortly  to  signify  to  them  the  displeasure 
of  God.  Then  the  excited  voices  of  the  men,  all  talking  and 
gesticulating  at  once,  the  women  shrieking  in  terror  or  dropping 
in  a  dead  faint,  the  surging  to  and  fro  of  a  multitude,  all  occa- 
sioning "  the  greatest  and  most  amazing  uproar  "  that  was  ever 


58 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


heard  inside  these  sacred  walls,  witnessed  to  the  little  central 
group  that  they  had  indeed  created  a  profound  sensation.  The 
offenders  were  all  quickly  taken  into  custody  and  hurried  off  to 
prison.  When  Margaret  was  arraigned  before  the  court,  the 
constable  declared  himseK  wholly  unable  to  identify  her  as  the 


ANCIENT  HOUSES,  NORTH  END. 


person  he  had  arrested,  she  being  then,  as  he  deposed,  "in 
the  shape  of  a  devil."  She  was  sentenced  to  be  whipped  up 
and  down  the  town  at  the  cart's  tail,  which  cruel  order  was 
carried  into  effect  a  few  days  later. 

This  event,  as  well  it  might,  newly  brought  the  affairs  of  the 
Friends  to  a  crisis.  The  first  feeling  of  exasperation  demanded 
its  victims.  But  this  having  spent  itself,  the  Quakers,  taking 
courage,  assembled  in  their  houses  of  worship  in  such  formidable 
numbers  that  the  multitude  of  offenders  became  their  safe- 
guard. 


IN   THE    OLD   SOUTH   CHURCH.  59 

m   THE   OLD    SOUTH   CHURCH. 

J.    G.    WHITTIER. 

She  came  ami  stood  iu  the  Old  South  Church, 

A  wonder  and  a  sign, 
With  a  look  the  old-time  sibyls  wore, 

Half  crazed  and  half  divine. 

Save  the  mournful  sackcloth  about  her  wound, 

Unclothed  as  the  primal  mother, 
With  limbs  that  trembled,  and  eyes  that  blazed 

With  a  fire  she  dare  not  smother. 

Loose  on  her  shoulder  fell  her  hair, 

With  sprinkled  ashes  gray  ; 
She  stood  in  the  broad  aisle,  strange  and  weird 

As  a  soul  at  the  judgment-day. 

And  the  minister  paused  in  his  sermon's  midst, 

And  the  people  held  their  breath, 
For  these  were  the  words  the  maiden  said 

Through  lips  as  pale  as  death  :  — 

"  Thus  saith  the  Lord  :  '  With  equal  feet 

All  men  my  courts  shall  tread, 
And  priest  and  ruler  no  more  shall  eat 

My  people  up  like  bread! ' 

"  Eepent  !  repent !  ere  the  Lord  shall  speak 

In  thunder  and  breaking  seals  ! 
Let  all  souls  worship  him  in  the  way 

His  light  within  reveals  !  " 

She  shook  the  dust  from  her  naked  feet, 

And  her  sackcloth  closely  drew. 
And  into  the  porch  of  the  awe-hushed  church 

She  passed  like  a  ghost  from  view. 


60  NEW-ENGLAND  LEGENDS. 


''MORE   WONDERS   OF   THE   INVISIBLE 
WORLD." 

1693. 

TO  one  who  is  not  familiar  with  all  the  phases  which  the 
history  of  witchcraft  in  Xew  England  takes,  Mr.  Whit- 
tier's  poem  entitled  "  Calef  in  Boston "  would  doubtless  be  an 
enigma,  although  its  foundation  is  fact  and  its  purpose  distinct. 
For  such  a  champion  of  common-sense  as  Eobert  Calef  proved 
himself  to  be  when  he  entered  the  lists  against  this  monstrous 
superstition,  the  poet  has  a  natural  and  unstinted  sympathy,  and, 
using  the  privilege  of  genius,  he  has  conferred  upon  the  humble 
tradesman  a  patent  of  nobiHty.  Oar  own  generation,  applaud- 
ing the  act,  hastens  to  inscribe  the  name  of  Calef  among  the 
benefactors  of  his  age. 

The  general  subject  of  witchcraft,  including  the  settled  be- 
liefs touching  it,  is  set  forth  in  another  place  in  all  its  defor- 
mity. The  active  agency  of  Satan  in  human  affairs  being  a 
thing  admitted,  it  became  the  bounden  duty  of  the  godly  minis- 
ters to  meet  liis  insidious  attacks  upon  the  churches,  and  they, 
as  men  deeply  learned  in  such  things,  were  naturally  appealed  to 
by  magistrates  and  judges  for  help  and  guidance.  They  at  once 
put  on  all  the  armor  of  righteousness.  Solemn  fasting  and 
prayer  were  resorted  to  as  things  most  efficacious  in  the  emer- 
gency. It  was  declared  from  the  pulpit  that  the  Devil  was  mak- 
ing a  most  determined  effort  to  root  out  the  Christian  religion  in 
New  England,  and  the  Government  was  advised  vigorously  to 
prosecute  the  cases  of  witchcraft  before  it.  In  all  the  subse- 
quent proceedings  the  ministers  took  a  prominent  part.  Tliey 
assisted  in  framing  the  questions  to  be  put  in  such  a  Avay  as 
to  entrap  the  supposed  Avitches,  and  they  attended  and  took 
minutes  of  the  examinations.     They  visited  the  accused  persons 


"MORE   WONDERS   OF   THE    INVISIBLE   WORLD."  61 

ill  prison  who  were  believed  to   be  in  league  with   Satan,  thus 
putting  in  practice  the  principle  that, — 
The  godly  may  allege 

For  anything  their  privilege, 

And  to  the  Devil  himself  may  go, 

If  they  have  motives  thereunto  ; 

For  as  there  is  a  war  between 

The  Dev  '1  and  them,  it  is  no  sin 

If  they,  by  subtle  stratagem. 

Make  use  of  him  as  he  does  them. 

Cotton  Mather  was  the  foremost  clergyman  of  that  dark  day. 
He  directed  all  his  great  abilities  and  learning  energetically  to 
exterminate  the  "devils"  who,  as  he  tells  us  in  his  "Wonders," 
were  walking  about  the  streets  "  with  lengthened  chains,  making 
a  dreadful  noise ;  and  brimstone  (even  without  a  metaphor)  was 
making  a  horrid  and  hellish  stench"  in  men's  nostrils.  Learned, 
eloquent,  and  persuasive,  a  man  of  great  personal  magnetism  and 
large  following,  his  influence  was  sure  to  be  potential  on  which- 
ever side  it  might  be  cast.  It  was  now  thrown  with  all  its 
force,  not  to  avert,  but  to  strengthen,  the  delusion,  thereby  aggra- 
vating its  calamitous  consequences.  Some  writers,  indeed,  have 
found  it  easy  to  doubt  his  sincerity.  Mr.  Whittier,  it  will  be 
seen,  writes  in  full  accord  with  this  feeling.  But  the  same  charge 
might  with  equal  fairness  include  all  the  Christian  ministers  of 
Mather's  time. 

Against  Mather,  the  neighbor,  adviser,  and  bosom  friend  of 
Governor  Sir  William  Phips,  the  acknowledged  head  of  the 
New  England  clergy  in  its  highest  spiritual  estate,  a  man  having 
ancient  and  modern  lore  at  his  tongue's  end,  and  withal  gifted 
with  a  fluency,  vivacity,  and  readiness  in  composing  and  writing 
that  might  make  a  bolder  man  hesitate  to  attack  him,  now 
entered  the  lists,  like  another  David,  Robert  Calef,  a  simple 
clothier,  unknown  outside  of  his  own  obscure  neighborhood. 
The  controversy  began  in  this  wise.  Calef  addressed  some  let- 
ters to  Dr.  Mather,  in  which  he  arraigned  not  only  the  witchcraft 
proceedings,  but  the  delusion  itself,  the  occasion  being  one  Mar- 


62  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

garet  Rule,  a  young  woman  of  Mather's  own  congregation,  whose 
singular  afflictions  had  just  been  published  to  the  world  by  him 
under  the  startling  caption  of  "  Another  Brand  pluckt  from 
the  Burning." 

According  to  Mather,  this  young  woman  Avas  haunted  by 
no  fewer  than  eight  malignant  spectres,  led  on  by  a  principal 
demon,  who  upon  her  refusal  to  enter  into  a  bond  with  him, 
continually  put  her  in  excruciating  bodily  torture  by  pinching, 
scorching,  and  sticking  pins  into  her  flesh,  throwing  her  into 
convulsions,  lifting  her  bodily  ofi"  the  bed,  and  the  like,  wherein. 


CANDLESTICK,    BIBLE,  AND   SPECTACLES. 

says  ]\rather,  she  languished  "  for  just  six  weeks  together."  And 
Ave  are  also  told  that  at  times  the  spectators  of  her  miseries 
would  be  nearly  choked  with  the  fumes  of  brimstone  rising 
in  the  chamber. 

Taking  the  alarm,  which  many  no  doubt  equally  shared,  dread- 
ing a  new  outbreak  of  the  delusion  whose  embers,  unquenched 
by  blood,  were  still  smouldering,  Calef  also  seems  to  have  dis- 
trusted either  the  integrity  or  the  wisdom  of  his  learned  adver- 
sary, whom  he  now  opposed  in  behalf  of  religion  and  of  public 
policy,  not  only  with  ability  and  vigor,  but  with  a  surprisingly 
well-equipped  arsenal  of  scriptural  learning.  In  vain  Mather 
snecringly  spoke  of  him  as  "  the  weaver  turned  minister,"  Calef 


"MORE   WONDERS   OF   THE   INVISIBLE   WORLD."  63 

only  plied  him  the  more  pointedly.  At  the  end  of  the  con- 
troversy the  despised  clothier  turned  out  to  be  one  of  those  men 
whose  reason  is  never  overthrown  by  panic,  and  who  do  not 
recede  a  single  inch.  Mather  began  with  the  mistake  of  under- 
rating him  as  an  antagonist. 

After  Mather's  story  of  Margaret  Eule  had  been  made  public, 
Calef  also  drew  up  and  circulated  one,  taken  from  the  mouths  of 
other  eye-witnesses,  which  is  a  protest  against  the  methods  used 
by  Mather  to  draw  out  extravagant  and  iiicoherent  statements 
from  the  afflicted  girl.  This  proceeding  gave  great  offence  to 
the  reverend  author  of  "  The  Wonders."  He  retorted  with  abu- 
sive epithets,  and  threatened  Calef  with  an  action  for  slander. 
Calef  was,  in  fact,  arrested  on  a  warrant  for  uttering  "  scandalous 
libels,"  and  was  bound  over  for  trial ;  but  no  prosecutor  appear- 
ing, the  case  was  dismissed. 

Instead  of  being  silenced,  Calef  pursued  with  unremitting 
pertinacity  his  purpose  to  prevent  a  new  access  of  the  dismal 
frenzy  of  the  preceding  year,  which  he  terms,  with  strong  feel- 
ing, "  the  sorest  affliction  and  greatest  blemish  to  religion  that 
ever  befell  this  country."  Later  on  Mather  condescended  to 
reply  ;  but  it  is  evident  that  the  reaction  had  now  set  in,  and 
that  those  who  had  been  the  most  forward  in  abetting  the  witch- 
craft proceedings  were  anxiously  considering  how  best  to  excul- 
pate themselves  both  to  their  own  and  to  the  newly  awakened 
public  conscience.  Mather  was  no  exception.  Favored  by  tliis 
reaction,  Calef  continued  to  press  him  hard.  Cotton  Mather's 
story  of  Margaret  Rule  is,  in  fact,  a  plea  and  an  apology  for  the 
past.  In  it  he  asks,  "  Why,  after  all  my  unwearied  cares  and 
pains  to  rescue  the  miserable  from  the  lions  and  bears  of  hell, 
which  had  seized  them,  and  after  all  my  studies  to  disappoint 
the  devils  in  their  designs  to  confound  my  neighborhood,  must 
I  be  driven  to  the  necessity  of  an  apology  1 "  This  language 
shows  how  hard  a  thing  it  was  for  him  to  be  forced  to  descend 
from  his  high  pedestal. 

And  again  he  naively  says  :  "  And  now  I  suppose  that  some  of 
our  learned  witlings  of  the  coffee-house,  for  fear  lest  these  proofs 


64  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

of  an  Invisible  World  should  spoil  some  of  their  sport,  wiU 
endeavor  to  turn  them  all  into  sport ;  for  which  buftbonery 
their  only  pretence  will  be  :  '  They  can't  understand  how  such 
things  as  these  could  be  done.' "  He  has  become  exquisitely 
sensitive  to  ridicule. 

But  witchcraft  had  now  indeed  got  to  the  length  of  its  blood- 
corroded  chain,  and  while  the  belief  still  prevailed  almost  as 
strongly  as  ever,  few  men  could  be  found  bold  enough  openly 
to  advocate  it.  The  sickening  reflection  tliat  the  judges  had 
decreed  the  death  of  a  score  of  innocent  persons  upon  a  mis- 
take paralyzed  men's  tongues,  unless,  like  Calef,  they  spoke 
in  obedience  to  the  command  of  conscience.  In  1700  he 
collected  and  had  printed  in  London  all  the  pieces  relating 
to  his  controversy  with  Cotton  Mather,  to  which  were  added 
an  "  Impartial  Account  "  of  the  Salem  outbreak,  and  a  review 
of  Mather's  life  of  Sir  Wil- 
liam Pliips.  To  this  he  gave 
the  title  of  "  More  Wonders  of 
the  Invisible  World."  JSTo  prin- 
ter could  be  found  in  Boston 
or  in  the  Colony  willing  to 
undertake  the  publication,  or 
■~~   "~'  expose    it    for    sale.       It    was 

TOMB   OF^  THE   MATHERS,  ^^^^^^-^-^^^  ^^^^^^^  •  ^^   ^j^^   ^.^^^^^^_ 

yard  at  Cambridge  by  order  of 
the  president,  whom  its  exposures  reached  through  his  near  rel- 
ative. To  break  its  force,  a  vindication  was  prepared  and 
printed  ;  but  there  were  no  more  denunciations  made  for  witch- 
craft, or  courts  assembled  to  hang  innocent  people.  Calef  in- 
deed felt  the  resentment  of  the  Matliers,  but  he  had  saved  the 
cause. 

This  is  the  subject  to  which  Mr.  W^hittier  addresses  his  verses 
entitled  "Calef  in  Boston."  The  allusion  to  puppet-play  is 
drawn  from  the  account  of  the  Eule  case,  wherein  it  is  related 
by  Mather  that  the  demons  Avho  tormented  the  girl  had  puppets 
into  which  they  would  tlirust  i)ins  whenever  they  wished  to 


CALEF   IN    BOSTON.  65 

hurt  her.  This  was  a  piece  of  olden  superstition  which  as- 
sumed that  by  making  an  image  in  wax  or  clay  of  the  person  she 
might  hold  a  grudge  against,  a  witch  could  put  that  person  to 
the  same  tortui-e  that  she  did,  in  a  mimic  way,  the  image. 


CALEF    m    BOSTON. 

J.    G.    WHITTIER. 

In  the  solemn  days  of  old 

Two  men  met  in  Boston  town, 

One  a  tradesman  frank  and  bold. 
One  a  preacher  of  renown. 

Cried  the  last,  in  bitter  tone  : 
"  Poisoner  of  the  wells  of  truth  I 

Satan's  hireling,  thou  hast  sown 
With  his  tares  the  heart  of  youth  ! 

Spake  the  simple  tradesman  then  ; 

"God  be  judge  'twixt  thou  and  I  ; 
All  thou  knowest  of  truth  hath  been 

Unto  men  like  thee  a  lie. 

"  Of  your  spectral  puppet  play 
I  have  traced  the  cunning  wires  ; 

Come  what  will,  I  needs  must  say, 
God  is  true,  and  ye  are  liars." 

"When  the  thought  of  man  is  free, 
Error  fears  its  lightest  tones ; 

So  the  priest  cried,  "  Sadducee  !  " 
And  the  people  took  up  stones. 

In  the  ancient  burying-ground. 

Side  by  side,  the  twain  now  lie, — 

One  wdth  hundjle  grassy  mound, 
One  with  marbles  pale  and  high. 
5 


66  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


NIX'S   MATE. 

THERE  are  two  local  legends,  one  of  disaster  and  one  of 
piracy,  which,  most  unfortunately  for  the  completeness 
of  our  collection,  come  either  in  whole  or  in  part  under  the 
head  of  lost  legends.  The  first  is  the  account  of  the  drowning 
of  Captain  George  Worthylake, 
the  keeper  of  the  first  lighthouse 
that  was  erected  at  the  entrance 
to  Boston  Harbor. 

This  sufficiently  simple  incident 
derives  its  chief  interest  from  the 
curious  fact  that  it  was  the  subject 
nix's  mate  ^^  Franklin's  earliest,   and  if  we 

are  to  believe  him,  misdirected, 
effort  to  court  the  IMuses  in  a  ballad.  He  says  of  it  tliat  his 
brother  James,  whose  apprentice  he  then  was,  thinking  that 
he  might  find  his  account  in  printing  them,  had  encouraged 
him  to  write  two  ballads,  one  called  the  "  Lighthouse  Tragedy," 
containing  an  account  of  the  loss  of  Captain  Worthylake  and 
his  two  daughters,  the  other  a  sailor's  song  on  the  capture  of 
the  noted  pirate,  Blackbeard.  "  They  were,"  he  ingenuously 
remarks,  "  wretched  verses  in  point  of  style,  mere  blind-men's 
ditties."  When  they  were  struck  off,  his  brother  despatched 
hiiu  to  hawk  them  about  the  town.  The  first  he  assures  us 
luxd  a  prodigious  run,  because  the  event  was  recent  and  had 
made  a  great  noise.  No  copy  of  this  ballad  is  known  to  exist, 
nor  has  tradition  transmitted  to  us  a  single  line  of  its  verses. 

It  is  easily  learned  from  contemporary  records  that  Captain 
George  AVorthylake,  who  lived  upon  Lovell's  Island,  while  on 
his  Avay  up  the  harbor,  "  took  heaven  by  the  way,"  as  one  writer 
piously  puts  it.     His  wife  Ann  and  his  daughter  Euth,  who 


NIXS   MATE.  67 

accompanied  him,  also  perished  with  him  by  drowning,  and  the 
three  unfortunates  were  all  buried  in  one  grave  in  the  ancient 
cemetery  of  Copp's  Hill.  The  gravestone  records  the  fact  that 
they  died  November  3,  1718;  but  it  is  exasperatingly  silent 
concerning  any  incident  that  was  likely  to  produce  a  commemo- 
rative ballad. 

The  other  legend  is  the  true  story  of  the  origin  of  the  name 
long  ago  given  to  the  submerged  islet  called  Nix's  Mate,  over 
which  a  lonely  obelisk  rises  out  of  the  flowing  tides,  not  for  a 
memorial  of  dark  and  bloody  deeds,  as  some  people  suppose, 
but  as  a  guiding  landmark  to  warn  ships  to  steer  clear  of  the 
dangerous  reef  beneath.  No  spot  within  a  wide  range  of  the 
coast  is  the  subject  of  more  eager  curiosity  to  sailors  or  lands- 
men, or  of  more  exaggerated  conjecture,  precisely  because  to  this 
day  its  true  history  remains  an  enigma.  But  such  as  it  is  the 
legend  is  given  for  what  it  may  be  worth. 

Following  the  repulsive  custom  of  erecting  the  public  gibbet 
at  the  entrance  to  a  town  or  a  village,  where  the  stark  bodies 
of  condemned  malefactors  were  the  first  objects  seen  by  all  who 
passed  in  or  out,  it  was  usual  to  hang  in  chains  condemned 
pirates  at  the  entrance  to  a  port,  to  signal  a  like  warning  to 
those  who  followed  the  sea  as  their  highway.  Long  custom 
had  sanctioned  this  post-mortem  sentence.  The  laws  allowed 
it  and  the  people  approved  it.  It  followed  that  the  stranger 
who  passed  underneath  one  of  these  ensigns  of  terror  could 
have  no  doubt  that  he  had  entered  a  Christian  land,  since  the 
administration  of  justice  according  to  its  most  civilized  forms 
confronted  him  upon  its  very  threshold. 

The  sunken  reef  now  known  as  Nix's  Mate  was  once  an  islet 
containing  several  acres  of  land,  and  it  was  at  a  very  early  day 
the  property  of  a  certain  John  Gallup,  from  whom  the  adjacent 
island  is  named.  The  sea  has  destroyed  every  vestige  of  it, 
excepting  only  the  blackened  boulders  that  lie  exposed  at  low 
tide,  over  which  the  monument  stands  guard.  Yet  not  more 
certainly  has  the  islet  perished  through  the  action  of  destroying 
currents  than  has  the  memory  of  Nix  or  his  Mate  been  swept 


68  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

away  into  oblivion  by  the  tides  of  time.  Still  the  name  is  a 
fact  entered  upon  the  public  records  of  the  Colony  as  a  thing 
of  general  knowledge;  and  we  therefore  continue  to  call  the 
reef  Nix's  Mate  without  in  the  least  knowing  why  we  do  so. 

The  only  other  fact  giving  authority  to  the  tradition  connected 
with  the  islet  is  the  certainty  that  it  was  more  or  less  used  in 
times  past  as  a  place  of  execution  for  condemned  pirates,  several 
of  whom  finished  here  a  career  of  crime,  the  bare  recital  of  which 
makes  one's  blood  run  cold.  The  name  of  Nix  only  is  wanted 
to  complete  the  black  calendar.  Every  trace  of  the  soil  to  which 
the  bones  of  the  victims  were  consigned  has  disappeared,  and 
only  the  solitary  monument  indicates  this  graveyard  of  the  sea, 
which  the  waves  have  kindly  levelled  and  blotted  out  forever. 

It  has,  however,  been  handed  down  from  generation  to  gener- 
ation, —  and  we  have  yet  to  find  the  individual  bold  enough  to 
dispute  it, — that  one  of  these  freebooters  persisted  to  the  last 
in  declaring  his  innocence  of  the  crimes  for  which  he  was  to 
suffer  death  at  the  hangman's  hands ;  and  he  protested  with  his 
latest  breath,  before  giving  up  the  ghost,  that  in  proof  of  the 
truth  of  his  dying  assertion  the  island  would  be  destroyed.  In 
effect,  the  Avaves  having  done  their  work  unhindered  by  any 
artificial  obstruction,  the  superstitious  have  always  seen  in  this 
a  decree  of  Fate,  and  Nix's  Mate  is  supposed  by  them  to  have 
suffered  unjustly.  But  knowing  as  we  do  that  the  disappear- 
ance of  the  island  is  due  to  natural  causes,  we  are  unable  satis- 
factorily to  establish  the  connection  between  the  prediction  and 
its  fulfilment.  In  any  case,  the  verification  of  innocence,  if  such 
it  shall  be  accounted,  came  too  late  by  a  century  to  save  Nix's 
Mate  from  the  halter. 


THE    DUEL    ON    THE    COMMON.  69 


THE   DUEL   ON   THE   COMMON. 

1728. 

A  SSOCIATED  with  the  viciiiity  of  the  Great  Elm,  is  an 
-^^-»-  episode  not  only  of  deepest  tragical  interest,  but  one 
still  further  remarkable  as  disproving  for  the  thousandth  time 
the  popular  fallacy  that  ''murder  will  out."  In  :N'ew  England 
there  had  been  no  need  of  edicts  against  duelling.  The  practice 
was  universally  looked  upon  as  being  no  whit  better  than 
murder,  and  that  feeling  was  voiced  by  Franklin,  truly,  though 
in  language  more  pungent  than  polite,  in  his  memorable  reply 
to  a  demand  for  satisfaction  cl  la  mode.  A  combat  of  words 
began.  After  two  or  three  passes,  the  philosopher  easily  dis- 
armed his  adversary  with  his  usual  weapon,  hard  logic,  of  which 
he  was  a  consummate  master.     Our  story  is  a  brief  one. 

On  the  morning  of  July  4,  1728,  at  daybreak,  the  body  of 
Benjamin  Woodbridge,  a  young  merchant  of  the  town,  was 
found  lying  in  a  pool  of  blood  in  a  deserted  part  of  the 
Common.  He  had  been  dead  some  hours  of  a  sword-thrust. 
In  fact,  the  weapon  had  passed  completely  through  the  unfor- 
tunate young  man. 

No  one  can  begin  to  imagine  the  consternation  excited  by 
the  discovery  ;  and  the  feeling  was  not  allayed  when  it  tran- 
spired that  Woodbridge  had  fallen  in  a  duel  with  another  young 
gentleman  of  the  town  named  Phillips.  Both  of  the  principals 
were  of  the  highest  respectability.  The  affair  was  conducted 
without  seconds,  and  the  victor,  after  seeing  his  adversary  fall, 
had  fled.     It  was  evidently  a  duel  to  the  death. 

This  has  proved  one  of  the  best-kept  family  secrets  that  ever 
baffled  a  scandal-loving  generation.  To  this  day  the  real  cause 
of  the  singular  and  fatal  nocturnal  combat  remains  shrouded  in 
mystery.  It  is  indeed  alleged  that  the  quarrel  originated  over 
a  game  of  cards  at  the  public-house;   but  this  supposition  is 


70 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


hardly  consistent  with  the  secrecy,  tlie  absence  of  all  witnesses, 
and  the  deadly  purpose  with  which  the  duel  was  conducted. 
The  parties  had  met  early  on  the  previous  evening  at  the  Royal 
Exchange,  arranged  the  meeting,  and  immediately  repaired  to  the 
rendezvous  which  one  of  them  was  destined  never  to  leave  alive. 

Positively  nothing,  then,  is  known  of  the  origin  of  the  aflair. 
Still,  it  is  evident  that  no  common  and  vulgar  quarrel  over  dice 
or  cards,  when  one  or  both  had  made  too  free  with  "  the  Tus- 
can grape,"  could  have  so  eternally  sealed  the  lips  of  those  to 
whom  the  real  cause  of  this  singular  affair  of  honor  must  have 
been  revealed.     Phillips  was  hurried  away  on  board  a  ship  by 


^-^>- 


THE    DUEL   ON   THE    COMMON. 

his  friends,  and  died  miserably  in  exile.  The  inquest  elicited 
nothing  of  moment  beyond  the  barren  facts  here  narrated.  Jus- 
tice was  completely  baffled.  The  headstone  in  the  old  Granary, 
where,  in  the  language  of  the  day,  poor  Woodbridge  was  "  de- 
cently and  handsomely  interred,"  is  silent.  Satan,  who  had  the 
arranging  of  this  lugubrious  combat,  thrust  home  Avith  young 
Phillips.  Ignorant  as  we  are  of  the  real  cause,  we  are  yet  irre- 
sistibly led  to  conclude  that  these  misguided  youths  crossed 
swords  not  in  a  moment  of  passion,  but  at  the  instigation  of 
some  offence  over  which  the  grave  itself  must  close.  The  grave 
has  closed  over  it. 


DUG   D  ANVILLE  S   DESCENT. 


71 


DUG   D'ANVILLE'S   DESCENT. 


1746. 


HAVING  regard,  possibly,  to  the  maxim  that  a  danger 
escaped  is  a  danger  no  longer,  the  historians  have  in 
general  treated  the  descent  of  Admiral  d'Anville  with  easy- 
indifference.  Yet  the 
startling  fact  remains 
that  so  long  as  his  fleet 
rode  the  seas  in  safety, 
the  fate  of  New  Eng- 
land trembled  in  the 
balance.  We  beg  the 
reader's  consideration 
of  the  story  from  this 
point  of  view. 

The  taking  of  Louis- 
burg  in  1745,  a  piece 
of  audacity  at  which 
France  first  stood  aghast, 
and  then  went  into  a 
towering  rage  over  it, 
came  near  being  the 
prelude  to  a  struggle 
involving  nothing  less 
than  the  destinies  of 
England's  American 
colonies.  By  opening 
new  and  alluring  vistas 

of  conquest  to  British  statesmen,  it  set  them  upon  fresh  schemes 
for  the  conquest  of  Canada  which  they  were  secretly  preparing 
to  put  in  execution.  In  fact,  by  this  mettled  achievement, 
New  England  had  driven  the  entering  wedge  into  the  very  heart 


OLD   SOUTH    CHURCU,    1872. 


72  KEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

of  the  French  colonial  empire.  England  was  now  gathering  her 
strength  to  force  it  home. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  so  incensed  the  French  Court,  then  fresh 
from  its  brilliant  victories  in  the  Lo^y  Countries,  that  orders 
were  given  for  the  immediate  equipping,  at  Brest,  of  a  formi- 
dable land  and  sea  armament,  which  it  was  meant  should  not 
only  recover  what  had  been  lost,  but  carry  the  war  energetically 
to  the  enemy's  own  doors.  To  guarantee  the  security  of  your 
possessions  by  recalling  your  enemy  to  the  defence  of  his  own, 
is  a  military  maxim  so  old  that  the  Cabinet  of  Versailles  could 
not  be  safely  assumed  to  be  ignorant  of  it. 

This  double-shotted  idea  promised  results  highly  important  to 
the  colonial  schemes,  as  well  as  to  the  waning  prestige,  of  France. 
So  also  did  it  give  good  promise  of  success  ;  for  at  Paris,  thanks 
to  British  parsimony,  it  was  well  known  that  the  British  Ameri- 
can seaports  were  no  Louisburgs.  Since,  therefore,  to  ravage  the 
Xew  England  sea-coast  was  a  thing  perfectly  feasible  to  do.  Count 
Maurepas  resolved  to  do  it.  And  he  meant  to  do  it  effectually. 
The  preparations  at  Brest  being  quickly  known  in  London,  the 
two  ancient  gladiators  began  once  more  to  strip  for  the  approach- 
ing combat. 

Pursuing  its  own  plans,  the  English  Ministry  was  at  the 
same  time  collecting  ships,  men,  and  materials  of  war  at  Ports- 
mouth, for  the  invasion  of  Canada.  Orders  were  sent  out  to 
the  Colonies  to  hasten  the  raising  of  troops  for  the  same  pur- 
pose. Then,  the  destination  of  the  French  fleet  not  being  quite 
clear,  the  Ministry  sent  a  squadron  to  blockade  it  in  Brest ;  but 
the  French  Admiral,  eluding  the  vigilance  of  the  British  cruisers, 
slipped  out  and  got  to  .sea  notwithstanding.  Such  was  the  situ- 
ation in  the  midsummer  of  1746. 

The  fleet  now  on  the  sea  numbered  eleven  ships  of  the  line 
and  twenty  frigates,  carrying  814  guns  and  7000  sailors,  to 
which  Avere  joined  thirty-four  transports  having  on  board  five 
battalions  of  the  veteran  troops  of  France.  The  fleet  was  com- 
manded by  M.  de  la  Rochefoucauld,  Due  d'Anville,  a  man  of 
illustrious  descent,  in  the  prime  of  life,  to  whom  the  fortunes  of 


Duc  d'anville's  descent.  73 

the  expedition  had  been  committed  with  fullest  confidence  in  his 
ability  to  execute  his  orders  to  the  letter.  Those  orders  were  to 
retake  Louisburg  and  dismantle  its  fortifications,  recapture  Annap- 
olis and  garrison  it,  and  then  to  burn  and  destroy  Boston,  and 
lay  waste  with  fire  and  sword  the  whole  coast  as  far  as  Florida. 

Boston,  the  place  where  the  plans  for  capturing  Louisburg 
had  originated,  the  brain  and  heart  of  the  English  Colonies,  the 
centre  of  English  aggression,  the  perpetual  menace  to  French 
dominion  in  Canada,  was  to  be  especially  distinguished  by 
the  vengeance  of  the  Cabinet  of  Versailles.  Boston  was  to  be 
destroyed.  Indeed,  her  defenceless  condition  invited  an  attack. 
Her  only  fortress  had  been  stripped  of  its  cannon  to  enable 
Pepperell  to  batter  down  Louisburg.  There  was  no  British 
squadron  to  defend  it,  and  there  was  not  a  single  British  sol- 
dier in  the  whole  province. 

All  these  circumstances  being  appreciated,  it  is  impossible  to 
exaggerate  the  consternation  with  which  the  certain  intelligence 
of  the  escape  of  D'Anville  was  received  at  Boston.  People  stood 
aghast.  The  danger  was  indeed  imminent.  He  might  at  any 
moment  be  expected  to  announce  his  arrival  upon  the  coast 
with  his  cannon.  England,  says  Hutchinson,  was  not  more 
alarmed  with  the  Spanish  Armada,  than  were  Boston  and  the 
other  North  American  seaports  by  the  hourly  expectation  of  this 
truly  formidable  flotilla.  Brave  man  that  he  was,  Governor 
Shirley  prepared  to  meet  the  emergency  with  such  means  as  he 
had.  But  there  was  not  a  moment  to  lose.  He  instantly  called 
out  a  levy  en  masse.  The  scenes  preceding  the  Louisburg  expe- 
dition were  repeated  on  a  larger  scale.  Couriers  spurred  in  every 
direction  bearing  the  summons  to  arms,  and  everywhere  the 
brave  yeomanry  responded  with  eager  promptitude  to  the  call. 
At  night  the  hills  blazed  AA'ith  bonfires.  By  day  the  roads 
swarmed  with  armed  men  hastening  toward  Boston.  The  Com- 
mon became  a  camp.  All  business  except  that  of  repelling  the 
invader  was  at  an  end,  and  nothing  else  was  talked  of.  In  this 
activity  the  people  a  little  recovered  from  the  panic  into  which 
they  had  at  first  been  thrown. 


74  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

While  the  people  were  awaiting  in  feverish  anxiety  further 
news  of  the  fleet,  a  fisherman  came  in  from  sea,  who  said  that  he 
had  been  brought  to  on  the  Nova  Scotia  coast  by  four  heavy 
ships  of  war.  They  required  him  to  pilot  them  into  Chebucto, 
which  was  the  designated  rendezvous  for  D'Anville's  fleet.  While 
lying  to  under  the  guns  of  one  of  these  ships,  he  read  on  her 
stern  the  name  "  Le  Terrible."  Then,  a  fog  having  suddenly 
shut  them  in,  he  had  succeeded  in  making  good  his  escape,  and 
had  steered  directly  for  Boston  with  the  news. 

But  the  splendid  fleet  of  D'Anville  was  destined  to  encounter 
a  series  of  disasters  hardly  paralleled  in  the  naval  annals  of 
France.  An  evil  destiny  pursued  it.  When  it  was  off  Cape 
Sable,  it  experienced  violent  storms  that  scattered  and  dispersed 
it  bej^ond  the  power  of  reassembling.  Conflaus  with  four  ships 
made  sail  for  France  ;  others  steered  for  the  West  Indies  ;  and 
still  others  were  drifting,  disabled  wrecks,  at  the  mercy  of  the 
winds  and  waves.  Finally  the  Duke  succeeded  in  getting  to  the 
rendezvous  with  two  or  three  ships  only  of  all  the  magnificent 
squadron  that  had  sailed  from  Brest.  Within  a  week  he  died, 
it  is  hinted  from  the  effect  of  poison  administered  by  himself, 
he  choosing  death  rather  than  to  'survive  the  disgrace  which  had 
so  suddenly  overwhelmed  him.  The  Vice-Admiral  then  pro- 
posed that  the  remains  of  the  fleet  should  return  to  France. 
La  Jonquiere,  Governor-General  of  Canada,  being  present  at  the 
Council,  warmly  opposed  this,  urging  that  the  fleet,  now  aug- 
mented by  the  arrival  of  three  more  ships,  and  strengthened  by 
the  recovery  of  the  sick,  ought  to  strike  one  blow  for  the  honor 
of  France.  He  begged  the  Vice-Admiral  to  attempt  at  least  tlie 
carrying  out  of  a  part  of  his  instructions.  These  arguments 
prevailing  with  the  Council,  D'Estournelles,  the  Vice-Admiral, 
finding  himself  opposed  and  thwarted,  lost  his  head,  became 
delirious,  and  presently  put  an  end  to  his  life  by  falling  on  his 
own  sword.  The  command  then  devolved  on  La  Jonqniere. 
The  troops  that  had  been  landed  were  re-embarked,  and  the 
fleet  sailed  to  attack  Annapolis;  but  it  again  meeting  with  a  dis- 
abling storm,  this  enterprise  was  also  abandoned,  and  the  shat- 


A  BALLAD  OF  THE  FEENCH  FLEET.         75 

tered  remnani  of  D'Anville's  armada  steered  for  France.  Upon 
this  the  French  Canadian  forces  then  invading  Nova  Scotia 
broke  up  their  camps  and  retreated.  The  hopes  of  the  French 
Ministry  had  thus  been  everywhere  wrecked. 

When  these  events  became  known  in  Boston,  the  great  weight 
that  had  oppressed  the  minds  of  the  people  was  so  suddenly 
lifted  off,  that  at  first  they  could  scarcely  realize  the  change. 
When  they  did,  the  universal  joy  showed  itself,  not  in  noisy 
demonstrations,  but,  in  the  true  Puritan  spirit,  in  prayer  and 
thanksgiving.  Prayers  of  gratitude  went  up  from  all  the  pul- 
pits ;  for  in  the  utter  destruction  of  D'Anville's  proud  fleet  by 
the  winds  and  waves  alone  was  seen,  on  every  side,  the  hand 
of  God  once  more  manifesting  itself,  as  in  the  old  days,  to  his 
people. 

In  this  spirit,  and  taking  these  truly  picturesque  incidents 
for  his  theme,  Longfellow  supposes  the  Rev.  Thomas  Prince, 
then  pastor  of  the  Old  South  Church  in  Boston,  to  be  recounting 
tliem  to  his  congregation,  ascribing  to  the  power  of  prayer  the 
destruction  that  overtook  the  fleet  of  France. 

A  BALLAD  OF  THE  FRENCH  FLEET. 

OCTOBER,  1746. 

Mr.  Thomas  Prince  (loquitur). 

A  FLEET  with  flags  arrayed 

Sailed  from  the  port  of  Brest, 
And  the  Admiral's  ship  displayed 

The  signal,  "  Steer  southwest." 
For  this  Admiral  d'Anville 

Had  sworn  b}^  ci'oss  and  crown 
To  ravage  with  fire  and  steel 

Our  helpless  Boston  town. 

There  were  rumors  in  the  street, 

In  the  houses  there  was  fear 
Of  the  coming  of  the  fleet 

And  the  danger  hoveriii"  near: 


\ 


76  .  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

And  while  from  mouth  to  mouth 
Spread  the  tidings  of  dismay, 

I  stood  in  the  Old  South, 
Saying  humbly,  "  Let  us  pray  ! 

"  O  Lord  !  we  would  not  advise ; 

But  if  in  thy  providence 
A  tempest  should  arise 

To  drive  the  French  fleet  hence, 
And  scatter  it  far  and  wide. 

Or  sink  it  in  the  sea, 
We  shoidd  be  satisfied, 

And  thine  the  glory  be." 

This  was  the  prayer  I  made. 

For  my  soul  was  all  on  flame  ; 
And  even  as  I  praj^ed. 

The  answering  tempest  came,  — 
It  came  with  a  mighty  power. 

Shaking  the  windows  and  walls, 
And  tolling  the  bell  in  the  tower 

As  it  tolls  at  funerals. 


The  fleet  it  overtook. 

And  the  broad  sails  in  the  van 
Like  the  tents  of  Cushan  shook, 

Or  the  curtains  of  Midian. 
Down  on  the  reeling  decks 

Crashed  the  o'erwhelming  seas ; 
Ah  !  never  were  there  wrecks 

So  pitiful  as  these  ! 

Tike  a  potter's  vessel  broke 

The  great  ships  of  the  line  ; 
They  were  carried  away  as  a  smoke, 

Or  sank  like  lead  in  the  brine. 
O  Lord !  before  thy  path 

They  vanished,  and  ceased  to  be, 
When  thou  didst  walk  in  wratli 

With  thine  horses  thrnngli  tin'  sea 


CHKIST   CHUKCH. 


77 


CHRIST     CHURCH. 

EDWIN   B.   RUSSELL. 

Gray  spire,  that  from  the  ancient  street 
The  eyes  of  reverent  pilgrims  greet, 
As  by  thy  bells  their  steps  are  led. 


CHRIST   CHURCH. 


Thou  liftest  up  thy  voice  to-day, 
Silvery  and  sweet,  yet  strong  as  aye, 
Above  the  living  and  the  dead. 


78  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Beneath  thy  tower,  how  vast  the  throng 
That  moved  through  porch  and  aisle  along 

The  holy  fane,  the  galleried  height; 
As  years  came  in,  and  years  went  out, 
With  sob  of  woe,  or  joyful  shout, 

With  requiem  rest,  or  anthem  bright. 

Old  faces  haunt  the  ancient  pew, 
And  in  the  organ-loft  renew 

The  sacred  strain  of  earlier  times, 
When  knight  and  dame  in  worship  bent, 
And  from  their  lips  the  homage  sent 

That  mingled  with  the  answering  chimes. 

And  here  the  patriot  hung  his  light. 
Which  shone  through  all  that  anxious  night, 

To  eager  eyes  of  Paul  Eevere. 
There,  in  the  dark  churchyard  below, 
The  dead  Past  wakened  not,  to  know 

How  changed  the  world,  that  night  of  fear. 

The  angels  on  thy  gallery  soar. 
The  Saviour's  face  thine  altar  o'er 

Is  there,  as  in  the  elder  day. 
The  royal  silver  yet  doth  shine, 
And  holds  the  pledge  of  love  divine, 

That  cannot  change,  nor  pass  away. 


PAUL   REYERE'S   RIDE. 

1775. 

IX  Boston  the  first  inquiry  that  every  stranger  makes  is  for 
Bunker  Hill ;  the  next  is  to  be  directed  to  the  old  church 
where  the  lanterns  were  hung  out  on  the  night  before  the  battles 
of  Lexington  and  Concord. 

At  nearly  every  hour  of  the  day  some  one  may  be  seen  in  the 
now  unfrequented  street  looking  up  at  the  lofty  spire  with  an 


PAUL  keveke's  eide.  79 

expression  of  deep  satisfaction,  as  if  some  long-clierislied  wish 
had  at  last  been  accomplished. 

While  he  is  endeavoring  to  impress  the  appearance  of  the 
venerable  structure  upon  his  memory,  the  pilgrim  to  historic 
shrines  sees  that  a  tablet,  with  an  inscription  cut  upon  it,  is 
imbedded  in  the  old,  but  still  solid,  masonry  of  the  tower  front. 
Salem  Street  is  so  narrow  that  he  has  no  difficulty  whatever  in 
reading  it  from  the  curbstone  across  the  way,  which  he  does 
slowly  and  attentively.  Bostonians  all  know  it  by  heart.  Thus 
it  runs  :  — 

THE  SIGNAL  LANTERNS  OF 

PAUL  REVERE, 

DISPLAYED  IN  THE   STEEPLE  OF  THIS   CHURCH, 

AI'RIL   18,    1775, 

W.UINED   TIIK   COl'NTKV   OF   THE  MARCH 

OF  TIIK  r.i;msn  troops 

TO  LEXINGTON  AND   CONCORD. 

This  inscription,  then,  has  constituted  Christ  Church,  in  eifect, 
a  monument  to  Paul  Revere  and  his  famous  exploit.  The  poet 
Longfellow  has  given  him  another. 

No  stranger  enters  this  neighborhood  who  does  not  get  the 
impression  that  he  has  somewhere,  unknown  to  himself,  walked 
out  of  the  Nineteenth  Century  into  the  Eighteenth. 

The  whole  neighborhood  is  in  a  languishing  state,  though  quite 
in  keeping  with  the  softened  feeling  that  always  comes  over  one 
in  such  retired  corners.  For  here  he  has  full  liberty  to  lose  him- 
self, undisturbed  either  by  noise  or  bustle,  and  he  can  quietly 
enjoy  the  seclusion  needful  for  getting  into  a  frame  of  mind  proper 
to  the  associations  of  the  spot.  Yet,  strange  as  it  now  seems, 
this  was  once  a  fashionable  quarter  of  the  town,  although  that 
was  long  ago,  and  traces  of  the  old-time  gentility  are  still  apparent 
here  and  there  to  the  eye  of  the  Avanderer  up  and  down  the  de- 
serted thoroughfares.  In  point  of  fact,  notwithstanding  it  is  one 
of  the  oldest  divisions  of  the  old  city,  the  whole  North  End  lias 
lagged  full  half  a  century  behind  the  other  sections,  —  so  far, 
indeed,  that  it  is  doubtful  whether  it  will  ever  overtake  them. 
This  old  church,  with  its  venerable  chimes,  the  armorial  tomb- 


80 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


stones  on  Copp's  Hill  above  it,  and  sundry  antiquated  mansions 
in  antiquated  lanes,  are  the  silent  witnesses  to  the  fact  that  the 
aeighborhood  has  really  seen  better  days. 

\Ye  have  devoted  so  much  space  to  the  locality  because  it  was 
the  birthplace  and  home  of  Paid  Eevere. 

At  the  time  of  his  memorable  ride,  Paul  Eevere  was  forty 
years  old,  and  was  living  in  the  neighborhood  where  he  was 
born.  Though  he  was  brought  up  to  the  trade  of  a  goldsmith, 
Eevere  was  one  of  those  skilful  mechanics  who  can  turn  their 
hands  to  many  things,  and  having  already  learned  to  engrave  on 
silver,  he  took  up  and  soon  began  to  be  known  as  an  engraver 


BOSTON   FROM   HKEEl;  .s    lUi 


on  copper-plate,  in  which  art  he  acquired  a  rude  proficiency. 
Eevere,  like  most  of  his  class,  went  heart  and  soul  with  the 
Whigs  when  the  troubles  with  the  mother  country  drew  men  to 
one  or  the  other  side  ;  and  he  very  soon  became  one  of  the  most 
active  and  daring  spirits  of  a  secret  organization,  composed  of 
men  like  himself,  who  had  sworn  on  the  Bible  not  to  betray 
each  other,  and  whose  purpose  was  to  spy  out  and  defeat  the 
measures  of  the  British  Governor-General,  cost  what  it  might. 
These  men  knew  nothing  and  cared  nothing  about  the  tricks  of 
diplomacy.  They  were  simply  anxious  to  decide  all  outstanding 
questions  by  blows,  the  sooner  the  better. 

Their  meetings  were  held  and  their  plans  concerted  at  the 


PAUL    liEVEKE  S    KIDE. 


81 


Green  Dragon  Tavern  in  Union  Street.  They  were  directed 
how  to  act  for  the  interests  of  the  common  cause  by  Adams, 
Hancock,  Warren,  and  one  or  two  otliers  of  the  acknowledged 
leaders.  Between  Warren  and  Kevere  there  grew  up  a  sym- 
pathy so  especially  close  and  intimate,  that  when  Adams  and 
Hancock  left  it,  and  Warren  alone  remained  to  observe  and 
direct  events  in  the  town,  Eevere  became  his  chosen  lieutenant. 
This  brings  us  to  the  event  recorded  in  the  inscription. 

The  Province  of  ISIassachusetts  was  on  the  verge  of  open  re- 
volt.    It  had  formed  an  army,  commissioned  its  officers,  and  pro- 


SIGN   or   THE    GKEEN   DRAGON. 


mulgated  orders  as  if  there  were  no  such  person  as  George  III.  It 
was  collecting  stores,  cannon,  and  muskets,  in  anticipation  of  the 
moment  when  this  army  should  take  the  field.  It  had,  moreover, 
given  due  notice  to  the  British  general-in-chief,  as  well  as  the 
rest  of  mankind,  that  the  first  movement  into  the  country  made 
by  the  royal  troops  in  force  would  be  considered  as  an  act  of  hos- 
tility and  treated  as  such.  If  this  was  not  raising  the  standard 
of  open  rebellion,  it  certainly  was  something  very  like  it. 

The  King  had  sent  General  Gage  to  Boston  to  put  down  the 
rebellion  there,  and  he  had  promised  to  do  it  witli  four  bat- 
talions.    He  was  now  in  Boston  with  a  small  army.     Yet  he 


82  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

hesitated  to  act.  Neither  party  would  recede  an  inch,  yet  on 
both  sides  the  commission  of  an  overt  act  which  any  moment 
might  precipitate  war  was  awaited  in  the  utmost  suspense  and 
dread. 

At  length  General  Gage  resolved  to  strike  a  crippling  blow, 
and  if  possible  to  do  it  without  bloodshed. 

The  principal  depot  of  the  patriots  was  forming  at  Concord, 
in  the  County  of  Middlesex,  about  twenty  miles  from  Boston, 
where  it  was  considered  quite  safe  from  any  sudden  dash  by  the 
royal  troops.  General  Gage  was  kept  thoroughly  informed  by 
his  spies  of  what  was  going  on,  and  he  determined  to  send  a 
secret  expedition  to  destroy  those  stores.  The  patriots,  on  their 
side,  knew  that  something  was  in  agitation,  and  it  was  no  diffi- 
cult matter  for  them  to  guess  what  was  its  real  purport  and  aim. 
Still,  so  long  as  these  remained  in  doubt,  they  were  anxious 
and  fearful  and  restless.  They,  however,  redoubled  their  vigi- 
lance. All  the  landing-places  of  the  town,  the  soldiers'  bar- 
racks, and  even  the  Province  House  itself,  were  closely  Avatched, 
while  guards  were  regularly  kept  in  all  the  surrounding  towns, 
promptly  to  give  the  alarm  whenever  the  head  of  a  British  col- 
umn should  appear.  General  Gage  held  the  capital  of  the  prov- 
ince, but  outside  of  its  gates  his  orders  could  be  executed  only 
at  the  point  of  the  bayonet. 

Fully  appreciating  the  importance  of  secrecy,  General  Gage 
quietly  got  ready  eight  hundred  picked  troops,  which  he  meant 
to  convey  under  cover  of  the  night  across  the  west  bay,  and 
to  land  on  the  Cambridge  side,  thus  baffling  the  vigilance  of 
the  townspeople,  and  at  the  same  time  considerably  shortening 
the  distance  his  troops  would  have  to  march.  So  much  pains 
was  taken  to  keep  their  actual  destination  a  profound  secret,  that 
even  the  officer  who  was  selected  for  the  command  only  received 
an  order  notifying  him  to  hold  himself  in  readiness.  The  guards 
in  the  town  were  doubled,  and,  in  order  to  intercept  any  couriers 
who  might  slip  through  them,  at  the  proper  moment  mounted 
patrols  were  sent  out  on  the  roads  leading  to  Concord.  Having 
done  -what  he  could  to  prevent  intelligence  from  reaching  the 


PAUL   KEVEKE  S   RIDE. 


83 


country,  and  to  keep  the  town  quiet,  the  British  General  gave 
his  orders  for  the  embarkation ; 
and  at  between  ten  and  eleven 
of  the  night  of  April  18th  the 
troops  destined  for  this  service 
were  taken  across  the  bay  in 
boats  to  the  Cambridge  side 
of  the  river.  At  this  hour  his 
pickets  were  guarding  the  de- 
serted roads  leading  into  the 
country,  and  up  to  this  moment 
no  patriot  courier  had  gone  out. 
The  General  had  thus  got  a  long 
start  of  the  patriots.  But  their 
vigilance  detected  the  move- 
ment as  soon  as  it  was  made. 
As  Lord  Percy  was  returning 
from  an  interview  with  Gen- 
eral Gage,  he  met  grou.ps  of  the 
townspeople  talking  excitedly 
together,  and  upon  going  near 
enough  to  overhear  the  subject 
of  conversation,  one  of  them 
said  to  him  defiantly :  "  The 
British  troops  have  marched, 
but  they  wiU  miss  their  aim." 

"AVhat    aiml"    asked    the 
Earl. 

"  The  cannon  at   Concord," 
was  the  reply. 

Percy  instantly  retraced  his 
steps  to  the   Province   House. 
After  listening  in  silence  to  his 
report,  the  General  broke  out  with,  "Then  I  have  been  betrayed ! " 

It  is  now  believed  that  a  member  of  the  General's  own  house- 
hold was   the  medium  through  which  his   secret  had  become 


GRENADIER,  1775. 


84  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

known  to  the  rebels.  Their  difficulty  now  was  to  transmit  the 
news  seasonably,  to  prevent  the  loss  of  the  provincial  magazines. 
There  were  only  two  modes  of  egress  from  the  town,  one  being  by 
the  old  ferry  to  Charlestown,  the  other  by  the  neck  connecting 
Boston  with  the  mainland,  which  was  only  wide  enough  for  a 
single  roa'd.  The  ferry-landing  Avas  kept  by  a  subaltern's  guard, 
and  it  was  commanded  by  the  batteries  of  a  frigate  anchored 
off  in  the  stream.  The  road  was  blocked  by  a  fortress  extend- 
ing across  it,  the  gates  of  which  were  shut  at  a  certain  hour, 
after  which  no  one  could  pass  in  or  out  except  by  order  of  the 
General  himself. 

To  provide  against  this,  Revere,  only  a  day  or  two  earlier,  had 
concerted  signals  which  should  apprise  his  friends  in  Charles- 
town  whenever  a  movement  of  troops  was  actually  taking  place. 
When  these  signals  should  be  displayed,  the  watchful  patriots 
there  knew  what  they  had  to  do. 

The  signals  agi-eed  upon  Avere  lights  to  be  shown  from  the 
belfry  of  the  North  Church:  two  if  the  troops  went  out  by 
water,  and  one  if  by  land.  The  redcoats  had  scarcely  got  into 
their  boats,  when  Warren  sent  in  great  haste  for  Paul  Revere 
and  William  Dawes.  He  knew  that  the  crisis  had  now  come. 
Telling  them  in  two  words  that  the  soldiers  had  started,  and 
that  he  feared  they  meant  to  seize  the  patriot  leaders,  Hancock 
and  Adams,  he  despatched  Revere  by  the  way  of  Charlestown, 
and  Dawes  by  the  great  high-road  over  the  Neck.  In  this 
way,  should  one  be  stopped,  the  other  might  elude  the  vigi- 
lance of  the  sentinels  and  succeed  in  getting  through  the  lines. 
With  the  parting  injunction  in  their  ears,  not  to  lose  a  moment, 
the  two  patriots  started  on  the  most  momentous  errand  of  the 
century. 

Revere  first  went  to  a  friend  and  requested  him  to  show  the 
signal,  one  lantern  in  the  church  belfry.  He  then  went  home, 
hurried  on  his  riding-boots  and  surtout,  and  having  picked  up 
two  friends  and  a  boat,  the  three  stealthily  rowed  across  tlie 
river,  passing  unseen  under  the  muzzles  of  the  frigate's  guns 
that  guarded  tlie  ferry. 


PAUL  revere's  ride.  85 

Leaping  on  shore,  Ifevere  learned  that  his  signal  had  been 
seen  and  understood.  At  that  very  moment  its  warning  beams 
shone  from  the  distant  tower.  A  fleet  horse  was  quickly  saddled 
and  bridled  for  him  to  mount.  lievere  seized  the  bridle,  jumped 
into  the  saddle,  and  spurred  off  at  the  top  of  his  speed  for  Lex- 
ington, ten  miles  away,  where  Hancock  and  Adams,  unconscious 
of  danger,  were  then  asleep  in  their  beds.  Dawes,  too,  had  for- 
tunately succeeded  in  evading  the  sentinels,  so  that  the  two  were 
now,  in  the  dead  of  night,  galloping  on  like  messengers  of  fate, 
not  sparing  either  whip  or  spur,  and  each  nerved  by  the  immi- 
nent peril  of  the  moment  to  do  or  dare  everything  for  the  sal- 
vation of  friends  and  country.  Eevere  had  hardly  got  clear  of 
Charlestown  when  a  horseman  suddenly  barred  his  passage. 
Another  rode  up,  then  a  third.  He  had  ridden  headlong  into 
the  midst  of  the  British  patrol!  They  closed  in  upon  him. 
But  Revere  was  not  the  man  to  be  thus  taken  in  a  trap  Avithout 
a  struggle.  He  quickly  pulled  up,  turned  his  horse's  head,  dug 
the  spurs  into  his  flanks,  and.  dashed  off'  into  a  by-road  with  the 
patrol  at  his  heels.  Being  the  better  mounted,  he  soon  distanced 
his  pursuers,  and  in  ten  minutes  more  rode  into  Medford,  shout- 
ing like  a  madman  at  every  house  he  came  to,  "  Up  and  arm  ! 
Up  and  arm  !  The  regulars  are  out !  The  regulars  are  out !  " 
He  awoke  the  captain  of  the  minute-men,  told  his  startling  story 
in  a  breath,  and  before  the  shrill  neighing  of  the  excited  steed  or 
the  shouts  of  the  rider  had  grown  faint  in  the  distance,  the  Med- 
ford bells  began  to  ring  out  their  wild  alarm.  When  Eevere  en- 
tered it,  the  town  was  as  still  as  the  grave  ;  he  left  it  in  an  uproar. 

The  regulars  were  indeed  out ;  but  M'here  ?  By  this  time  they 
should  have  been  well  advanced  on  their  march,  had  not  an 
excess  of  caution  ruined  at  the  outset  every  chance  of  surprising 
the  Provincials.  Possibly  to  prevent  the  expedition's  getting 
wind,  instead  of  furnishing  the  troops  with  rations  before  start- 
ing, they  had  been  cooked  on  board  the  fleet,  and  put  into  the 
boats  furnished  by  the  diff'erent  ships  of  war.  After  landing 
upon  the  Cambridge  marshes,  and  after  floundering  through 
water  up  to  the  knee,  to  the  shore,  the  royal  troops  were  kept 


86 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


drawn  up  in  a  dirty  by-road  until  two  o'clock  in 

waiting  for  their  provisions  to  be  brought 

from  the  boats  and  distributed.     To  lose 

hours  Avhen  minutes  counted  for  hours 

was   fatal.     The  three  thus  idled  away 

decided  the  fate  of  the  expedition.    The 

British  grenadiers  were  still  shivering 

on   the  spot  where  they  disembarked, 

when  Revere,  after  raising  the  country 

in  arms,  rode  into  Lexington.     It  was 

just  midnight  when  he  dismounted  at 

the  door  where  Hancock  and 

Adams  were  asleep.    He  saw 

that  he  was  iu  V"  — 

time.   Apatiiot 


the  m 


KEVERE    AROUSING   THE 


guard   was   stationed   outside.      The  drowsy  sergeant    sharply 
admonished  Revere  to  make  less  noise,  or  he  would  disturb  the 


PAUL  revere's  ride.  87 

household.  "  Noise  !  "  exclaimed  the  thoroughly  excited  Ee- 
vere ;  "  you  '11  have  noise  enough  before  long.  The  regulars 
are  out !  "     He  was  then  admitted. 

In  the  course  of  half  an  hour  the  other  express  arrived,  and  the 
two  rebel  leaders  being  now  fully  convinced  that  Concord  was 
the  threatened  point,  after  allowing  the  bold  riders  the  time  to 
swallow  a  few  mouthfuls,  hurried  them  on  to  Concord.  Adams 
did  not  believe  that  Gage  would  send  an  army  merely  to  take 
two  men  prisoners.     To  him  the  true  object  was  very  clear. 

Severe,  Dawes,  and  young  Dr.  Prescott  of  Concord,  who  had 
joined  them,  had  got  over  half  the  distance,  when  at  a  sudden 
turning  they  saw  in  the  gray  light  a  group  of  dusky  figures 
filling  the  road  ;  at  tlie  same  instant  they  heard  the  sharp  com- 
mand to  halt.  It  was  a  second  patrol,  armed  to  the  teeth. 
Prescott  leaped  his  horse  over  the  roadside  wall,  and  so  escaped 
across  the  fields  to  Concord.  Revere,  seeing  the  muzzle  of  a 
pistol  covering  him  with  sure  aim,  gave  himself  up,  with  the 
better  grace  now  that  one  of  the  party  had  got  clear.  Dawes  did 
the  same  thing.  An  officer  then  put  his  cocked  pistol  to  Re- 
vere's head,  telling  him  that  he  would  scatter  his  brains  in  the 
road  if  he  did  not  make  true  answers.  His  business  on  the 
road  at  that  hour  was  then  demanded.  He  was  told,  in  return, 
to  listen ;  when,  through  the  still  morning  air,  coming  distinct 
and  threatening,  the  distant  booming  of  the  alarm-bells,  peal 
upon  peal,  was  borne  to  their  ears.  Revere  then  boldly  avowed 
his  errand  to  be  what  it  was,  significantly  adding  that  the  coun- 
try below  was  up  in  arms.  Another  prisoner  told  the  patrol  that 
they  were  all  dead  men.  It  was  the  Britons  who  were  now  un- 
easy. One  of  the  rebel  couriers  had  escaped  them  ;  the  country 
below  them  was  up  ;  and  there  was  no  news  of  the  troops.  Order- 
ing the  prisoners  to  follow  them,  the  troop  rode  off  at  a  gallop 
toward  Lexington,  and  when  they  were  at  the  edge  of  the  vil- 
lage Revere  was  told  to  dismount,  and  was  then  left  to  shift  for 
himself.  He  ran  as  fast  as  his  legs  could  carry  him  across  the 
pastures,  back  to  the  parsonage,  to  report  his  misadventure,  while 
the  patrol  galloped  off  toward  Boston  to  announce  theirs. 


88    _  NE\V-EXGLAXD    LEGENDS. 

By  this  time  the  mimite-men  of  Lexington  had  rallied  to  op- 
pose the  march  of  the  troops.  At  this  hour  the  alarm  had  spread 
throughout  the  surrounding  country  ;  and  it  was  still  resound- 
ing, still  extending  on  every  side,  and  multiplying  itself  like  a 
destroying  conflagration  swept  onward  by  the  winds.  In  two 
hours  more  the  whole  Province  was  in  flames.  Thanks  to  the  in- 
trepidity of  Paul  Revere  the  goldsmith,  instead  of  surprising  the 
rebels  iu  their  beds,  the  redcoats  found  them  marshalled  on  Lex- 
ington Green,  at  Concord  Bridge,  in  front,  flank,  and  rear,  armed 
and  ready  to  dispute  their  march  to  the  bitter  end. 

At  five  in  the  morning  his  Majesty's  troops  by  command  fired 
upon  and  killed  a  number  of  the  citizen  soldiers  at  Lexington  ; 
they  then  gave  three  loud  and  triumphant  cheers  for  the  vic- 
tory. At  five  in  the  evening  General  Gage  knew  that  this 
volley  had  been  discharged  over  the  grave  of  his  master's  Ameri- 
can empire,  which  he  had  promised  to  preserve  with  four  bat- 
talions ;  the  yeomanry  of  one  county  only  had  chased  six  of 
them  back  to  their  quarters. 

From  this  narration  it  appears  that  it  was  not  the  signal,  but 
Eevere  himself  who  "  warned  the  country  of  the  march  of  the 
British  troops."  Yet  had  he  failed,  the  result  would  probably 
have  been  the  same,  thanks  to  his  promptitude  and  his  invention 
in  this  historic  emergency.  Mr.  Longfellow  iu  his  famous  ballad 
so  arranges  the  scene  as  to  make  Eevere  impatiently  watching  for 
the  signal-light  to  appear.     Revere  was  the  signal. 


PAUL   REVERE'S    RIDE. 

Listen,  my  children,  and  you  shall  hear 

Of  the  midnight  ride  of  Paul  Revere, 

On  the  eighteenth  of  April,  in  Seventy-five  ; 

Hardly  a  man  is  now  ali\-e 

Who  remembers  that  famous  day  and  year. 

He  said  to  his  friend,  "  If  the  British  march 
By  land  or  sea  from  the  town  to-night. 


PAUL  reveke's  kide.  89 

Hang  a  lantern  aloft  in  the  belfry  arch 

Of  the  North  Church  tower  as  a  signal  light,  — 

One,  if  by  land,  and  two,  if  by  sea  ; 

And  I  on  the  opposite  shore  will  be, 

Ready  to  ride  and  spread  the  alarm 

Through  every  Middlesex  village  and  farm, 

For  the  country  folk  to  be  up  and  to  arm." 

Then  he  said  "  Good  night !  "  and  with  muffled  oar 

Silently  rowed  to  the  Charlestown  shore, 

Just  as  the  moon  rose  over  the  bay, 

Where  swinging  wide  at  her  moorings  lay 

The  "  Somerset,"  British  man-of-war  ; 

A  phantom  -ship,  with  each  mast  and  spar 

Across  the  moon  like  a  prison  bar. 

And  a  huge  black  hulk,  that  was  magnified 

By  its  own  reflection  in  the  tide. 


Meanwhile,  impatient  to  mount  and  ride, 
Booted  and  spurred,  with  a  heavy  stride 
On  the  opposite  shore  walked  Paul  Revere. 
Now  he  patted  his  horse's  side. 
Now  gazed  at  the  landscape  far  and  near. 
Then,  impetuous,  stamped  the  earth, 
And  turned  and  tightened  his  saddle-girth  ; 
But  mostly  he  watched  with  eager  search 
The  belfry-tower  of  the  Old  North  Church, 
As  it  rose  above  the  graves  on  the  hill, 
Lonely  and  spectral  and  sombre  and  still. 
And  lo  !  as  he  looks,  on  the  belfry's  height 
A  glimmer,  and  then  a  gleam  of  light! 
He  springs  to  the  saddle,  the  bridle  he  turns. 
But  lingers  and  gazes,  till  full  on  his  sight 
A  second  lamp  in  the  belfry  burns ! 

A  hurry  of  lioofs  in  a  village  street, 

A  shape  in  the  moonlight,  a  bulk  in  the  dark. 

And  beneath,  from  the  pebbles,  in  passing,  a  spark 

Struck  out  by  a  steed  flying  fearless  and  fleet  : 

That  was  all  1     And  yet,  through  the  gloom  and  the  light, 


90  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

The  fate  of  a  nation  was  riding  that  night ; 

And  the  spark  struck  out  l^y  that  steed,  in  his  flight. 

Kindled  the  hind  into  flame  with  its  heat. 


It  was  one  by  the  village  clock, 

When  he  galloped  into  Lexington. 

He  saw  the  gilded  weathercock 

Swim  in  the  moonlight  as  he  passed, 

And  the  meeting-house  windows,  blank  and  bare, 

Gaze  at  him  with  a  spectral  glare, 

As  if  they  already  stood  aghast 

At  the  bloody  work  they  would  look  upon. 

You  know  the  rest.     In  the  books  you  have  read, 
How  the  British  Regulars  fired  and  fled, — 
How  the  farmers  gave  them  ball  for  ball, 
From  behind  each  fence  and  farmyard  wall, 
Chasing  the  redcoats  down  the  lane, 
Then  crossing  the  fields  to  emerge  again 
Under  the  trees  at  the  turn  of  the  road. 
And  only  pausing  to  fire  and  load. 


PETER  RUGG,  THE  MISSING   MAN. 

BY  WILLIAM   AUSTIN. 

{From  Jonathan  Dunwell  of  New  York  to  Mr.  Herman  Krauff.) 

SIR,  —  Agreeably  to  my  promise,  I  now  relate  to  you  all 
the  particulars  of  the  lost  man  and  cliikl  which  I  have 
been  able  to  collect.  It  is  entirely  owing  to  the  humane  inter- 
est you  seemed  to  take  in  the  report  that  I  have  pursued  the 
inquiry  to  the  following  result. 


PETER   RUGG,   THE    MISSING   MAN.  91 

You  may  remember  that  business  called  me  to  Boston  in  the 
summer  of  1820.  I  sailed  in  the  packet  to  Providence;  and 
when  I  arrived  there,  I  learned  that  every  seat  in  the  stage  was 
engaged.  I  was  thus  obliged  either  to  wait  a  few  hours,  or  ac- 
cept a  seat  with  the  driver,  who  civilly  ofiered  me  that  accom- 
modation. Accordingly  I  took  my  seat  by  his  side,  and  soon 
found  him  inteUigent  and  communicative.  When  we  had  trav- 
elled about  ten  miles,  the  horses  suddenly  threw  their  ears  on 
their  necks  as  flat  as  a  hare's.  Said  the  driver,  "Have  you  a 
surtout  with  you  1 " 

"  No,"  said  I ;  "  why  do  you  ask  V 

"  You  will  want  one  soon,"  said  he.  "  Do  you  observe  the 
ears  of  all  the  horses  1 " 

"  Yes ;"  and  was  just  about  to  ask  the  reason. 
"  They  see  the  storm-breeder,  and  we  shall  see  him  soon." 
At  this  moment  there  was  not  a  cloud  visible  in  the  firma- 
ment ;  soon  after  a  small  speck  appeared  in  the  road. 

"There,"  said  my  companion,  "comes  the  storm-breeder; 
he  always 'leaves  a  Scotch  mist  behind  him.  By  many  a  wet 
jacket  do  I  remember  him.  I  suppose  the  poor  fellow  suffers 
much  himself —  much  more  than  is  known  to  the  world." 

Presently  a  man  with  a  child  beside  him,  with  a  large  black 
horse  and  a  weather-beaten  chair,  once  built  for  a  chaise-body, 
passed  in  great  haste,  apparently  at  the  rate  of  U^lve  miles  an 
hour.  He  seemed  to  grasp  the  reins  of  his  horse  with  firmness, 
and  appeared  to  anticipate  his  speed.  He  seemed  dejected,  and 
looked  anxiously  at  the  passengers,  particularly  at  the  stage-driver 
and  myself.  In  a  moment  after  he  passed  us,  the  horses'  ears 
were  up,  and  bent  themselves  forward  so  that  they  nearly  met. 
"  Who  is  that  man  1 "  said  I ;  "he  seems  in  great  trouble." 
"  Nobody  knows  who  he  is ;  but  his  person  and  the  child  are 
familiar  to  me.  I  have  met  him  more  than  a  hundred  times, 
and  have  been  so  often  asked  the  way  to  Boston  by  that  man, 
even  when  he  was  travelling  directly  from  that  town,  that  of 
late  I  have  refused  any  communication  with  him ;  and  that  is 
the  reason  he  gave  me  such  a  fixed  look." 


PETEli    KUGG,    THE    MISSING   MAN.  93 

"  But  does  he  uever  stop  anywhere  ]  " 

"  I  have  never  known  him  to  stop  anywhere  longer  than  to 
inquire  the  way  to  Boston.  And  let  him  be  where  he  may,  he 
will  tell  you  he  cannot  stay  a  moment,  for  he  must  reach  Boston 
that  night." 

We  were  now  ascending  a  high  hill  in  Walpole ;  and  as  we 
had  a  fair  view  of  the  heavens,  I  was  rather  disposed  to  jeer 
the  driver  for  thinking  of  his  surtout,  as  not  a  cloud  as  big  as 
a  marble  could  be  discerned. 

"Do  you  look,"  said  he,  "in  the  direction  whence  the  man 
came ;  that  is  the  place  to  look.  The  storm  never  meets  him, 
it  follows  him." 

We  presently  approached  another  hill ;  and  when  at  the 
height  the  driver  pointed  out  in  an  eastern  direction  a  little 
black  speck  about  as  big  as  a  hat,  —  "There,"  said  he,  "is  the 
seed  storm;  we  may  possibly  reach  PoUey's  before  it  reaches 
us,  but  the  wanderer  and  his  child  will  go  to  Providence 
through  rain,  thunder,  and  lightning." 

And  now  the  horses,  as  though  taught  by  instinct,  hastened 
with  increased  speed.  The  little  black  cloud  came  on  rolling 
over  the  turnpike,  and  doubled  and  trebled  itself  in  all  direc- 
tions. The  appearance  of  this  cloud  attracted  the  notice  of  aU 
the  passengers;  for  after  it  had  spread  itself  to  a  great  bulk, 
it  suddenly  became  more  limited  in  circumference,  grew  more 
compact,  dark,  and  consolidated.  And  now  the  successive  flashes 
of  chain  lightning  caused  the  whole  cloud  to  appear  like  a  sort 
of  irregular  network,  and  displayed  a  thousand  fantastic  images. 
The  driver  bespoke  my  attention  to  a  remarkable  configuration 
in  the  cloud ;  he  said  every  flash  of  lightning  near  its  centre 
discovered  to  him  distinctly  the  form  of  a  man  sitting  in  an 
open  carriage  drawn  by  a  black  horse.  But  in  truth  I  saw  no 
such  thing.  The  man's  fancy  was  doubtless  at  fault.  It  is  a 
very  common  thing  for  the  imagination  to  paint  for  the  senses, 
both  in  the  visible  and  invisible  world. 

In  the  mean  time  the  distant  thunder  gave  notice  of  a  shower 
at  hand ;  and  just  as  we  reached  Policy's  tavern  the  rain  poured 


94 


NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 


down  in  torrents.  It  was  soon  over,  the  cloud  passing  in  the 
direction  of  the  turnpike  toward  Providence.  In  a  few  moments 
after,  a  respectable-looking  man  in  a  chaise  stopped  at  the  door. 
The  man  and  child  in  the  chair  having  excited  some  little  sym- 
pathy among  the  passengers,  the  gentleman  was  asked  if  he 
had  observed  them.     He  said  ho  had  met  them ;  that  the  man 


EQUESTRIANS. 

seemed  bewildered,  and  inquired  the  way  to  Boston ;  that  ho 
was  driving  at  great  speed,  as  though  he  expected  to  outstrip 
the  tempest ;  that  the  moment  he  had  passed  him,  a  thunder- 
clap broke  directly  over  the  man's  head,  and  seemed  to  envelop 
both  man  and  child,  horse  and  carriage.  "I  stopped,"  said  the 
gentleman,  "  supposing  the  lightning  had  struck  him  ;  but  the 
horse  only  seemed  to  loom  up  and  increase  his  speed  ;  and  as 


PETER   RUGG,   THE   MISSING   MAN. 


95 


well  as  I  could  judge,  he  travelled  just  as  fast  as  the  thunder- 
cloud." 

While  this  man  was  speaking,  a  pedlar  with  a  cart  of  tin 
merchandise  came  up  all  dripping ;  and  on  being  questioned, 
he  said  he  had  met  that  man  and  carriage,  within  a  fortnight, 
in  four  different  States ;  that  at  each  time  he  had  inquired  the 
way  to  Boston,  and  that  a  thunder-shower,  like  the  present, 
had  each  time  deluged  his  wagon  and  his  wares,  setting  his  tin 
pots,  etc.,  afloat,  so  that  he  had  determined  to  get  marine  insur- 
ance done  for  the  future.  But  that  which  excited  his  surprise 
most  was  the  strange  conduct  of  his  horse ;  for  that  long  before 
he  could  distinguish  the 
man  in  the  chair,  liis  own 
horse  stood  still  in  the 
road,  and  flung  back  his 
ears.  "  In  short,"  said  the 
pedlar,  "  I  wish  never  to 
see  that  man  and  horse 
again ;  they  do  not  look 
to  me  as  though  they  be- 
longed to  this  world." 

This  was  all  I  could 
learn  at  that  time;  and 
the  occurrence  soon  after 
would  have  become  with 
me    "  like    one    of  those 

things  which  had  never  happened,"  had  I  not,  as  I  stood  recently 
on  the  doorstep  of  Bennett's  Hotel  in  Hartford,  heard  a  man 
say,  "  There  goes  Peter  Eugg  and  his  child  I  He  looks  wet  and 
weary,  and  farther  from  Boston  than  ever."  I  was  satisfied  it 
was  the  same  man  I  had  seen  more  than  three  years  before ;  for 
whoever  has  once  seen  Peter  Rugg  can  never  after  be  deceived 
as  to  his  identity. 

"  Peter  Paigg  ! "  said  I ;  "  and  who  is  Peter  Rugg  ? " 

"  That,"  said  the  stranger,  "  is  more  than  any  one  can  tell 
exactly.     He  is  a  famous  traveller,  held  in  light  esteem  by  all 


HACKNEY-COACH. 


96  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

iun-holders,  for  he  never  stops  to  eat,  drink,  or  sleep.     I  wonder 
why  the  Government  does  not  employ  him  to  carry  the  mail." 

"Ay,"  said  a  bystander;  "that  is  a  thought  bright  only  on 
one  side.  How  long  would  it  take  in  that  case  to  send  a  letter 
to  Boston  1  —  for  Peter  has  already,  to  my  knowledge,  been  more 
than  twenty  years  travelHng  to  that  place." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  does  the  man  never  stop  anywhere  1  Does  he 
never  converse  with  any  one  1  I  saw  the  same  man  more  than 
three  years  since  near  Providence,  and  I  heard  a  strange  story 
about  him.     Pray,  sir,  give  me  some  account  of  this  man." 

"Sir,"  said  the  stranger,  "those  who  know  the  most  respect- 
ing that  man  say  the  least.  I  have  heard  it  asserted  that 
Heaven  sometimes  sets  a  mark  on  a  man  either  for  judgment 
or  a  trial.  Under  which  Peter  Rugg  now  labors,  I  cannot  say  ; 
therefore  I  am  rather  inclined  to  pity  than  to  judge." 

"  You  speak  like  a  humane  man,"  said  I ;  "  and  if  you  have 
known  him  so  long,  I  pray  you  will  give  me  some  account  of 
him.     Has  his  appearance  much  altered  in  that  time  1 " 

"  Why,  yes  ;  he  looks  as  though  he  never  ate,  drank,  or  slept ; 
and  his  child  looks  older  than  himself;  and  he  looks  like  time 
broken  ojff  from  eternity,  and  anxious  to  gain  a  resting-place." 
"  And  how  does  his  horse  look  1 "  said  I. 
"  As  for  his  horse,  he  looks  fatter  and  gayer,  and  shows  more 
animation  and  courage,  than  he  did  twenty  years  ago.  The  last 
time  Eugg  spoke  to  me  he  inquired  how  far  it  was  to  Boston. 
I  told  him  just  one  hundred  miles. 

"  'Why,'  said  he,  '  how  can  you  deceive  me  sol  It  is  cruel 
to  mislead  a  traveller.  I  have  lost  my  way  ;  pray  direct  me  the 
nearest  way  to  Boston.' 

"  I  repeated,  it  was  one  hundred  miles. 

"  '  How  can  you  say  so  1 '  said  he  ;  'I  was  told  last  evening 
it  was  but  fifty,  and  I  have  travelled  all  night.' 

"  '  But,'  said  I,  '  you  are  now  travelling  from  Boston.  You 
must  turn  back.' 

"  '  Alas  ! '  said  he,  '  it  is  all  turn  back  !  Boston  shifts  with 
the  wind,  and  plays  all  around  the  compass.     One  man  tells 


PETEK   KUGG,   THE   MISSING    MAN.  97 

me  it  is  to  the  east,  another  to  the  west ;  and  the  guide-posts, 
too,  they  all  point  the  wrong  way.' 

'"But  will  you  not  stop  and  rest?'  said  I;  '  you  seem  wet 
and  weary.'  ^ 

"  '  Yes,'  said  he ;  '  it  has  been  foul  weather  since  I  left  home. 

"  '  Stop,  then,  and  refresh  yourself.' 

"  '  I  must  not  stop  ;  I  must  reach  home  to-night,  if  possible  ; 
though    I    think    you    must   be   mistaken   in    the    distance    to 

Boston.' 

"  He  then  gave  the  reins  to  his  horse,  which  he  restrained  with 
difficulty,  and  disappeared  in  a  moment.  A  few  days  afterward 
I  met  the  man  a  little  this  side  of  Claremont,  winding  around 
the  hills  in  Unity,  at  the  rate,  I  believe,  of  twelve  miles  an 

hour."  . 

"  Is  Peter  Eugg  his  real  name,  or  has  he  accidentally  gained 

that  name '? " 

"  I  know  not,  but  presume  he  will  not  deny  his  name  ;  you 
can  ask  him  — for  see,  he  has  turned  his  horse,  and  is  passing 

this  way." 

In  a  moment  a  dark-colored,  high-spirited  horse  approached, 
and  would  have  passed  without  stopping ;  but  I  had  resolved  to 
speak  to  Peter  Rugg,  or  whoever  the  man  might  be.  Accord- 
ingly I  stepped  into  the  street,  and  as  the  horse  approached,  1 
made  a  feint  of  stopping  him.  The  man  immediately  reined  in 
his  horse.  "Sir,"  said  I,  "may  I  be  so  bold  as  to  inquire  if 
you  are  not  Mr.  Rugg?  — for  I  think  I  have  seen  you  before." 

"  My  name  is  Peter  Eugg,"  said  he  :  "  I  have  unfortunately 
lost  my  Avay.  I  am  wet  and  weary,  and  will  take  it  kindly  of 
you  to  direct  me  to  Boston." 

"  You  live  in  Boston,  do  you  ?  —  and  in  wliat  street  I  " 

"  In  Middle  Street." 

"  When  did  you  leave  Boston  ] " 

"  I  cannot  tell  precisely  ;  it  seems  a  considerable  time." 

"  But  how  did  you  and  your  child  become  so  wet  ]  It  has 
not  rained  here  to-day." 

"  It  has  just  rained  a  heavy  shower  up  the  river.     But  I  shall 
7 


98  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

not  reach  Boston  to-night  if  I  tarry.  Would  you  advise  me  to 
take  the  old  road,  or  the  turnpike  ■?  " 

"  Why,  the  old  road  is  one  hundred  and  seventeen  miles,  and 
the  turnpike  is  ninety-seven." 

"  How  can  you  say  so  1  You  impose  on  me  !  It  is  wrong 
to  trifle  with  a  traveller.  You  know  it  is  but  forty  miles  from 
Newburyport  to  Boston." 

"  But  this  is  not  Newburyport ;  this  is  Hartford." 

"Do  not  deceive  me,  sir.  Is  not  this  town  Newburyport, 
and  the  river  that  I  have  been  following  the  Merrimac]" 

"  No,  sir;  this  is  Hartford,  and  the  river  the  Connecticut." 

He  wrung  his  hands  and  looked  incredulous. 

"  Have  the  rivers,  too,  changed  their  courses,  as  the  cities 
have  changed  places  1  But  see  !  the  clouds  are  gathering  in  the 
south,  and  we  shall  have  a  rainy  night.     Ah,  that  fatal  oath  ! " 

He  would  tarry  no  longer.  His  impatient  horse  leaped  off, 
his  hind  flanks  rising  like  wings ;  he  seemed  to  devour  all 
before  him,  and  to  scorn  all  behind. 

I  had  now,  as  I  thought,  discovered  a  clew  to  the  history  of 
Peter  Rugg,  and  I  determined,  the  next  time  my  business  called 
me  to  Boston,  to  make  a  further  inquiry.  Soon  after,  I  was 
enabled  to  collect  the  following  particulars  from  Mrs.  Croft,  an 
aged  lady  in  Middle  Street,  who  has  resided  in  Boston  during 
the  last  twenty  years.     Her  narration  is  this  : 

The  last  summer,  a  person,  just  at  twilight,  stopped  at  the 
door  of  the  late  Mra  Rugg.  Mrs.  Croft,  on  coming  to  the  door, 
perceived  a  stranger,  with  a  child  by  his  side,  in  an  old  weather- 
beaten  carriage,  with  a  black  horse.  The  stranger  asked  for  Mrs. 
Rugg,  and  was  informed  that  Mrs.  Rugg  had  died  in  a  good  old 
age  more  than  twenty  years  before  that  time. 

The  stranger  replied,  "  How  can  you  deceive  me  so  1  Do  ask 
Mrs.  Rugg  to  step  to  the  door." 

"  Sir,  I  assure  you  Mrs.  Rugg  has  not  lived  here  these  nine- 
teen years ;  no  one  lives  here  but  myself,  and  my  name  is 
Betsey  Croft." 

The  stranger  paused,  and  looked  up  and  down  the  street,  and 


PETEK    RUGG,    THE   MISSING   MAN.  99 

said  :  "  Though  the  painting  is  rather  faded,  this  looks  like  my 
house." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  child  ;  "  tliat  is  the  stone  before  the  door  that 
I  used  to  sit  on  to  eat  my  bread  and  milk." 

"  But,"  said  the  stranger,  "it  seems  to  be  on  the  wrong  side 
of  the  street.  Indeed  everything  here  seems  to  be  misplaced. 
The  streets  are  all  changed,  the  people  are  all  changed,  the  town 
seems  changed  ;  and,  what  is  strangest  of  all,  Catherine  Rugg  has 
deserted  her  husband  and  child.  Pray,"  continued  the  stranger, 
"  has  John  Foy  come  home  from  sea  1  He  went  a  long  voyage  ; 
he  is  my  kinsman.  If  I  could  see  him,  he  could  give  me  some 
account  of  Mrs.  Eugg." 

"  Sir,"  said  Mrs.  Croft,  "  I  never  heard  of  John  Foy.  Where 
did  he  live  1  " 

"  Just  above  here,  in  Orange  Tree  Lane." 
"  There  is  no  such  place  in  this  neighborhood." 
"  What  do  you  tell  me  ?    Are  the  streets  gone  ?     Orange  Tree 
Lane  is  at  the  head  of  Hanover  Street,  near  Pemberton's  Hill." 
"  There  is  no  such  lane  now." 

"  Madam  !  you  cannot  be  serious.  But  you  doubtless  know 
my  brother,  WiUiam  Rugg.  He  lives  in  Royal  Exchange  Lane, 
near  King  Street." 

"  I  know  of  no  such  lane,  and  I  am  sure  there  is  no  such 
street  as  King  Street  in  this  town." 

"  ]S^o  such  street  as  King  Street !  Why,  woman,  you  mock 
me  !  You  may  as  well  tell  me  there  is  no  King  George  !  How- 
ever, madam,  you  see  I  am  wet  and  weary  ;  I  must  find  a  resting- 
place.     I  will  go  to  Hart's  tavern,  near  the  market." 

"  AVhich  market,  sir  1  —  for  you  seem  perplexed  ;  we  have 
several  markets." 

"You  know  there  is  but  one  market,  —  near  the  Town  dock." 
"Oh,  the  old  market;   but    no  such   person  has   kept  there 
these  twenty  years." 

Here  the  stranger  seemed  disconcerted,  and  uttered  to  himself 
quite  audibly  :  "  Strange  mistake!  How  much  this  looks  like 
the  town  of  Boston  !     It  certainly  has  a  great  resemblance  to 


100 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


it;  but  I  perceive  my  mistake  now.  Some  other  Mrs.  Rugg, 
some  other  Middle  Street." 

"  Then,"  said  he,  "madam,  can  you  direct  me  to  Boston]" 

"  Why,  this  is  Boston,  the  city  of  Boston.  I  know  of  no 
other  Boston." 

"  City  of  Boston  it  may  be ;  but  it  is  not  the  Boston  where 
I  live.  I  recollect  now,  I  came  over  a  bridge  instead  of  a  ferry. 
Pray  what  bridge  is  that  I  just  came  over  1 " 

"  It  is  Charles  Eiver  Bridge." 

"  I  perceive  my  mistake  ;  there  is  a  ferry  between  Boston  and 
Charlestown ;  there  is  no  bridge.     Ah,  I  perceive  my  mistake. 


MAKKET-WOiTAN. 


If  I  were  in  Boston  my  horse  would  carry  me  directly  to  my 
own  door.  But  my  horse  shows  by  his  impatience  that  he  is 
in  a  strange  place.  Absurd,  that  I  should  have  mistaken  this 
place  for  the  old  town  of  Boston  !  It  is  a  much  finer  cit}""  than 
the  town  of  Boston.  It  has  been  built  long  since  Boston.  I 
fancy  it  must  lie  at  a  distance  from  this  city,  as  the  good  woman 
seems  ignorant  of  it."' 

At  these  words  his  horse  began  to  cliafe  and  strike  the  pave- 
ment with  his  fore-feet.  The  stranger  seemed  a  little  bewildered, 
and  said,  "  No  home  to-night ;  "  and  giving  the  reins  to  his  horse, 
passed  up  the  street,  and  I  saw  no  more  of  him. 


PETER   RUGG,   THE   MISSING   MAN.  101 

It  was  evident  that  the  generation  to  which  Peter  Eugg 
belonged  had  passed  away. 

This  was  all  the  account  of  Peter  Rugg  I  could  obtain  from 
Mrs.  Croft ;  but  she  directed  me  to  an  elderly  man,  Mr.  James 
Felt,  who  lived  near  her,  and  who  had  kept  a  record  of  the  prin- 
cipal occurrences  for  the  last  fifty  years.  At  my  request  she  sent 
for  him  ;  and  after  I  had  related  to  him  the  object  of  my  inquiry, 
Mr.  Felt  told  me  he  had  known  Rugg  in  his  youth ;  that  his 
disappearance  had  caused  some  surprise;  but  as  it  sometimes 
happens  that  men  run  away,  sometimes  to  be  rid  of  others,  and 
sometimes  to  be  rid  of  themselves ;  and  Rugg  took  his  child 
with  him,  and  his  own  horse  and  chair;  and  as  it  did  not 
appear  that  any  creditors  made  a  stir,  —  the  occurrence  soon 
mingled  itself  in  the  stream  of  oblivion,  and  Rugg  and  his 
child,  horse  and  chair,  were  soon  forgotten. 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Mr.  Felt,  "  sundry  stories  grew  out  of  Rugg's 
affair,  —  whether  true  or  false  I  cannot  tell ;  but  stranger  things 
have  happened  in  my  day,  without  even  a  newspaper  notice." 

"  Sir,"  said  I,  "  Peter  Rugg  is  now  living ;  I  have  lately  seen 
Peter  Rugg  and  his  child,  horse,  and  chair.  Therefore  I  pray 
you  to  relate  to  me  all  you  know  or  ever  heard  of  him." 

"Why,  my  friend,"  said  James  Felt,  "that  Peter  Rugg  is 
now  a  living  man,  I  will  not  deny;  but  that  you  have  seen 
Peter  Rugg  and  his  child  is  impossible,  if  you  mean  a  small 
child  ;  for  Jenny  Rugg,  if  living,  must  be  at  least  — let  me  see 
—  Boston  Massacre,  1770  — Jenny  Rugg  was  about  ten  years 
old.  Why,  sir,  Jenny  Rugg,  if  living,  must  be  more  than  sixty 
years  of  age.  That  Peter  Rugg  is  living,  is  highly  probable,  as 
he  was  only  ten  years  older  than  myself,  and  I  was  only  eighty 
last  March ;  and  I  am  as  likely  to  live  twenty  years  longer  as  any 
man." 

Here  I  perceived  that  Mr.  Felt  was  in  his  dotage;  and  I 
despaired  of  gaining  any  intelligence  from  him  on  which  I 
could  depend. 

I  took  my  leave  of  Mrs.  Croft,  and  proceeded  to  my  lodgings 
at  the  Marlborough  Hotel. 


102  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

If  Peter  Rugg,  thought  I,  has  been  travelling  since  the  Boston 
Massacre,  there  is  no  reason  why  he  should  not  travel  to  the 
end  of  time.  If  the  present  generation  know  little  of  him,  the 
next  will  know  less  ;  and  Peter  and  his  child  will  have  no  hold 
on  this  world. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening  I  related  my  adventure  in 
Middle  Street. 

"  Ha  !  "  said  one  of  the  company,  smiling,  "  do  you  really 
think  you  have  seen  Peter  Rugg"?  I  have  heard  my  grandfather 
speak  of  him  as  though  he  seriously  believed  his  own  story." 

"  Sir,"  said  I,  "  pray  let  us  compare  your  grandfather's  story 
of  Mr.  Rugg  with  my  own.  " 

"  Peter  Rugg,  sir,  if  my  grandfather  was  worthy  of  credit, 
once  lived  in  Middle  Street,  in  this  city.  He  was  a  man  in 
comfortable  circumstances,  had  a  wife  and  one  daughter,  and 
was  generally  esteemed  for  his  sober  life  and  manners.  But, 
unhappily,  his  temper  at  times  was  altogether  ungovernable; 
and  then  his  language  was  terrible.  In  these  fits  of  passion, 
if  a  door  stood  in  his  way,  he  would  never  do  less  than  kick 
a  panel  through.  He  Avould  sometimes  throw  his  heels  over 
his  head  and  come  down  on  his  feet,  uttering  oaths  in  a  circle; 
and  thus  in  a  rage  he  was  the  first  who  performed  a  somerset, 
and  did  what  others  have  since  learned  to  do  for  merriment  and 
money.  Once  Rugg  was  seen  to  bite  a  tenpenny  nail  in  halves. 
In  those  days  everybody,  both  men  and  boys,  wore  wigs  ;  and 
Peter,  at  these  moments  of  violent  passion,  would  become  so 
profane  that  his  wig  would  rise  up  from  his  head.  Some  said 
it  was  on  account  of  his  terrible  language  ;  others  accounted 
for  it  in  a  more  philosophical  way,  and  said  it  was  caused  by 
the  expansion  of  his  scalp,  —  as  violent  passion,  we  know,  wiU 
swell  the  veins  and  expand  the  head.  While  these  fits  were 
on  him  Rugg  had  no  respect  for  heaven  or  earth.  Except  this 
infirmity,  all  agreed  that  Rugg  was  a  good  sort  of  man  ;  for 
when  his  fits  were  over,  nobody  Avas  so  ready  to  commend  a 
placid  temper  as  Peter. 

"  It  was  late  in  autumn,  one  morning,  that  Rugg,  in  his  own 


PETER   RUCxG,   THE   MISSING   MAN.  103 

chair,  with  a  fine  large  bay  horse,  took  his  daughter  and  pro- 
ceeded ^to  Concord.  On  his  return  a  violent  storm  overtook 
him.  At  dark  he  stopped  in  Menotomy,  now  West  Cambridge, 
at  the  door  of  a  Mr.  Cutter,  a  friend  of  his,  who  urged  him 
to  tarry  the  night.  On  Rugg's  dechning  to  stop,  Mr.  Cutter 
urged  him  vehemently.  'Why,  Mr.  Rugg,'  said  Cutter,  'the 
storm  is  overwhelming  you  :  the  night  is  exceeding  dark  :  your 
little  daughter  will  perish  :  you  are  in  an  open  chair,  and  the 
tempest  is  increasing.'  '  Let  the  storm  increase;  said  Rugg,  with 
a  fearful  oath ;  '  /  will  see  home  to-night,  in  spite  of  the  last  tem- 
pest, or  may  I  never  see  home!'  At  these  words  he  gave  his 
whip  to  his  high-spirited  horse,  and  disappeared  in  a  moment. 


BOSTON    TRUCK. 

But  Peter  Rugg  did  not  reach  home  that  night,  or  the  next ; 
nor,  when  he  became  a  missing  man,  could  he  ever  be  traced 
beyond  Mr.  Cutter's  in  Menotomy. 

"  For  a  long  time  after,  on  every  dark  and  stormy  night,  the 
wife  of  Peter  Rugg  would  fancy  she  heard  the  crack  of  a  whip, 
and  the  fleet  tread  of  a  horse,  and  the  rattling  of  a  carriage 
passing  her  door.  The  neighbors,  too,  heard  the  same  noises ; 
and  some  said  they  knew  it  was  Rugg's  horse,  the  tread  on 
the  pavement  was  perfectly  familiar  to  them.  This  occurred  so 
repeatedly,  that  at  length  the  neighbors  watched  with  lanterns, 
and  saw  the  real  Peter  Rugg,  with  his  own  horse  and  chair, 
and  child  sitting  beside  him,  pass  directly  before  his  own  door, 
his  head  turned  toward  his  house,  and  himself  making  every 
effort  to  stop  his  horse,  but  in  vain. 


104  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

"  The  next  day  the  friends  of  Mrs.  Engg  exerted  themselves 
to  find  her  husband  and  child.  They  inquired  at  every  public- 
house  and  stable  in  town ;  but  it  did  not  appear  that  Rugg 
made  any  stay  in  Boston.  ISTo  one,  after  Rugg  had  passed  his 
own  door,  could  give  any  account  of  liim  ;  though  it  was  asserted 
by  some  that  the  clatter  of  Eugg's  horse  and  carriage  over  the 
pavements  shook  the  houses  on  both  sides  of  the  streets.  And 
this  is  credible,  if  indeed  Rugg's  horse  and  carriage  did  pass  on 
that  night.  For  at  this  day,  in  many  of  the  streets,  a  loaded 
truck  or  team  in  passing  will  shake  the  houses  like  an  earth- 
quake. However,  Rugg's  neighbors  never  afterward  watched  ; 
some  of  them  treated  it  all  as  a  delusion,  and  thought  no  more 
of  it.  Others,  of  a  different  opinion,  shook  their  heads  and  said 
nothing. 

"  Thus  Rugg  and  his  child,  horse  and  chair,  were  soon  for- 
gotten, and  probably  many  in  the  neighborhood  never  heard  a 
word  on  the  subject. 

''  There  was,  indeed,  a  rumor  that  Rugg  afterward  was  seen 
in  Connecticut,  between  Suflfield  and  Hartford,  passing  through 
the  country  with  headlong  speed.  This  gave  occasion  to  Rugg's 
friends  to  make  further  inquiry.  But  the  more  they  inquired, 
the  more  they  were  baffled.  If  they  heard  of  Rugg  one  day  in 
Connecticut,  the  next  they  heard  of  him  winding  round  the 
hills  in  New  Hampshire ;  and  soon  after,  a  man  in  a  chair  with 
a  small  child,  exactly  answering  the  description  of  Peter  Rugg, 
would  be  seen  in  Rhode  Island  inquiring  the  way  to  Boston, 

"  But  that  which  chiefly  gave  a  color  of  mystery  to  the  story 
of  Peter  Rugg  was  the  affair  at  Charlestown  Bridge.  The  toll- 
gatherer  asserted  that  sometimes  on  the  darkest  and  most  stormy 
nights,  when  no  object  could  be  discerned,  about  the  time  Rugg 
was  missing,  a  horse  and  wheel  carriage,  Avith  a  noise  equal  to 
a  troop,  would  at  midnight,  in  utter  contempt  of  the  rates  of 
toll,  pass  over  the  bridge.  This  occurred  so  frequently,  that 
the  toll-gatherer  resolved  to  attempt  a  discovery.  Soon  after, 
at  the  usual  time,  apparently  the  same  horse  and  carriage 
approached  the   bridge   from   Charlestown    Square.     The  toll- 


A   LEGEND   OF   THE    OLD   ELM.  105 

gatherer,  prepared,  took  his  stand  as  near  the  middle  of  the 
bridge  as  he  dared,  with  a  large  three-legged  stool  in  his  hand. 
As  the  appearance  passed,  he  threw  the  stool  at  the  horse,  but 
heard  nothing,  except  the  noise  of  the  stool  skipping  across  the 
bridge.  The  toll-gatherer,  on  the  next  day,  asserted  that  the 
stool  went  directly  through  the  body  of  the  horse  ;  and  he  per- 
sisted in  that  belief  ever  after.  Whether  Rugg,  or  whoever  the 
person  was,  ever  passed  the  bridge  again,  the  toll-gatherer  would 
never  tell ;  and  when  questioned,  seemed  anxious  to  waive  the 
subject.  And  thus  Peter  Eugg  and  his  child,  horse  and  car- 
riage, remain  a  mystery  to  this  day." 

This,  sir,  is  all  that  I  could  learn  of  Peter  Eugg  in  Boston. 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  OLD  ELM. 

BY  ISAAC   McLELLAN,   Jr. 

MIKE  WILD  was  a  substantial  grocer,  and  flourished  in 
the  good  old  days  of  Boston.  He  has  for  many  years 
been  peacefully  gathered  to  his  fathers,  as  a  small  gray  tablet, 
very  much  defaced  by  the  hand  of  time  and  the  idle  schoolboy, 
will  testify.  This  memorial  of  Mr.  Wild's  mortality  may  be 
seen  by  the  curious  antiquary  in  the  Old  Granary  Churchyard, 
bearing  a  pithy  inscription,  which  denotes  the  years  and  days  of 
Mike's  mortal  career,  and  is  disfigured  by  the  customary  cherub 
and  seraph  of  churchyard  sculpture. 

Mike  was  known  to  be  a  hard  man,  miserly  and  penurious ; 
but  it  was  never  clearly  proved  that  he  was  dishonest.  If  his 
crafty  and  calculating  spirit  could  discriminate  nicely  between 
a  sure  and  a  doubtful  speculation,  it  could  determine  with  equal 
accuracy  how  far  to  overreach  his  neighbor,  and  yet  escape  the 
hazard  of  becoming  obnoxious  to  the  charge  of  fraud.  But  he 
valued  himself  most  upon  his  shrewdness  and  caution,  profess- 
ing to  hold  in  utter  contempt  the  folly  of  credulity  ;  and  when 


106  NEW-ENGLAXD    LEGENDS. 

he  read  or  heard  of  any  imposition  practised  upon  his  neigh- 
bors, he  used  to  say  :  "  Folks  must  be  up  betimes  to  overreach 
Mike  Wild." 

One  stormy  evening,  about  the  close  of  the  autumn  of  1776, 
Mike  was  enjoying  his  customary  household  comforts,  his  can 
and  pipe,  in  the  little  back  parlor  of  his  dwelling.  Number  — , 
North  End,  being  the  house  next  to  that  occupied  by  Mr. 
Peter  Rugg,  famous  in  story.  The  night  was  dark  without  as 
the  "  throat  of  the  black  wolf,"  and  as  turbulent  as  that  animal 
when  a  long  snow-storm  upon  the  hills  has  driven  him  mad 
with  famine. 

This  obscure  chamber  was  the  theatre  of  his  earthly  felicity. 
It  was  here  that  he  counted  over  his  accumulating  gains,  with 
every  returning  night ;  indulged  in  the  precious  remembrance 
of  past  success,  and  rioted  in  the  golden  visions  of  future  pros- 
perity. Therefore  with  this  room  were  associated  all  the  pleas- 
ing recollections  of  his  life. 

It  was  the  only  green  spot  in  his  memory,  —  the  refreshing 
oasis  in  the  barren  desert  of  his  affections.  It  was  there  alone 
that  the  solitary  gleam  of  consolation  touched  and  melted  the 
ice  of  his  soul.  It  was  natural,  then,  considering  his  selfish 
nature,  that  he  should  keep  it  sacred  and  inviolate.  The  foot 
of  wife  or  child  was  never  permitted  to  invade  this  sanctum. 
Such  approach  on  their  part  would  have  been  deemed  high 
treason,  and  punished  as  such  without  "  benefit  of  clergy." 
Such  intrusion  by  a  neighbor  would  have  been  deemed  a  decla- 
ration of  hostilities,  and  would  have  been  warmly  repelled.  It 
were,  indeed,  safer  to  have  bearded  the  lion  in  his  den  or  the 
puissant  Douglas  in  his  hall ;  for  ISIike  possessed  all  those  phys- 
ical virtues  Avhich  can  keep  the  head  from  harm,  if  at  any  time 
the  absence  of  better  qualities  provoke  assault. 

The  besom  of  the  thrifty  housewife  never  disturbed  the  ven- 
erable dust  and  cobwebs  that  supplied  its  only  tapestr3\  From 
generation  to  generation  the  spider  had  reigned  unmolested  in 
the  corners  and  crevices  of  the  wall ;  and  so  long  had  the  terri- 
tory been  held  and  transmitted  from  sire  to  son,  that  if  a  title 


A    LECxEND    OF    THE    OLD    ELM. 


107 


"by  prescription  could  ever  avail  against  the  practical  argument 
of  the  broom,  there  was  little  fear  of  a  process  of  ejectment. 

As  the  old  lamp  at  the  gate  creaked  dismally,  and  the  crazy 
shutters  of  his  chamber  rattled  still  more  noisily  in  the  wind, 
the  mercury  of  Mike's  spirits  rose  higher,  —  a  physical  phenom- 
enon not  easily  explained.  Perhaps,  as  the  elemental  war  grew 
sharper,  his  own  nature  grew  more  benign  in  the  consciousness 
that  a  secure  shelter  was  interposed  between  his  own  head  and 
the  elements. 

The  last  drops 
of  good  liquor 
had  disappeared 
from  Mike's  sil- 
ver tankard,  the 
last  wavering 
wreath  of  smoke 
had  dissolved  in 
the  air,  and  the 
dull  embers  of 
his  hearth  were 
fast  dying  away 
in  the  white  ash- 
es, when  Mike, 
upon  raising  his 
eyes       suddenly, 

was  much  startled  to  observe  that  he  had  comi)any  in  his  solitude. 
He  rubbed  his  eyes  and  shook  himself,  to  ascertain  his  personal 
identity  ;  but  still  the  large,  strong  figure  of  a  man  was  seated  in 
the  old  leather  chair  directly  opposite  to  him.  Whence  he  came, 
by  what  means  he  had  entered,  what  were  his  purposes,  were 
mysteries  too  deep  for  Mike's  faculties  at  that  time  to  fathom. 
There  he  sat,  however,  motionless  as  a  statue,  with  his  arms 
folded,  and  a  pair  of  large,  lustrous  black  eyes  fastened  full 
upon  him.  There  was  a  complete  fascination  in  that  glance, 
which  sent  a  thrill  through  his  whole  frame,  and  held  him  as 
with  an  iron  chain  to  his  chair. 


CUAISE,  1776. 


108  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Mike,  like  a  good  general,  soon  rallied  his  routed  faculties, 
reanimated  his  fugitive  thoughts,  and  resolved,  though  possess- 
ing a  faint  heart,  to  show  a  bold  front,  —  a  cheat  often  prac- 
tised by  better  tacticians.  He  thereupon  plucked  up  heroism, 
and  soon  ascertained  that  his  visitor  was  of  very  affable  and 
benignant  bearing. 

He  communicated  his  business  briefly,  in  which  virtue  of 
brevity  we  shall  condescend  to  be  an  imitator.  He  revealed 
that  he  was  indeed  of  unearthly  nature,  —  a  disembodied  spirit, 
and  that  during  his  earthly  sojourn  he  had  secreted  a  most 
precious  treasure,  which  had  been  unlawfully  acquired,  under 
the  Old  Elm  Tree  in  the  centre  of  the  Common.  He  could  not 
rest  quietly  in  the  grave  until  he  had  imparted  the  secret  to 
some  human  being ;  and  as  Mike  was  a  man  after  his  own  heart, 
he  had  selected  him  as  the  object  of  his  bounty.  Mike  thanked 
him  sincerely  for  the  compliment  and  kindness,  and  promised 
to  go  forth  without  delay  in  search  of  the  treasure.  He  sallied 
forth  with  his  "  spiritual  guide,"  his  mind  intoxicated  with  the 
thought  of  the  heavy  ingots,  and  the  bars  of  gold,  and  the  rich 
foreign  coin  which  he  believed  would  be  shortly  his  own.  The 
night  was  black  and  rainy  ;  the  scattered  sleet  swept  furiously 
along  the  streets,  pursued  by  the  screaming  wind  ;  but  the 
wrath  of  the  elements  was  disarmed  by  the  glorious  vision  of 
riches  and  honor  which  possessed  him. 

They  arrived  at  length,  after  much  wading  and  tribulation, 
at  the  Old  Elm,  now  the  trysting-place  of  young  people  on  the 
days  of  Election  festivity.  In  those  days  it  was  sometimes 
used  as  a  gallows,  for  want  of  a  better ;  and  it  is  said,  at  this 
very  day,  that  on  dark  and  tempestuous  nights  the  ghosts  of 
those  who  perished  on  its  branches  are  seen  swinging  and  heard 
creaking  in  the  wind,  still  struggling  in  the  last  throe  and 
torment  of  dissolution,  in  expiation  of  crimes  committed  long 
ago. 

When  Mike  paused  at  the  roots  of  tlie  old  tree,  ho  requested 
his  guide  to  designate  the  particular  spot  that  contained  the 
treasure  ;  but  receiving  no  response  to  this  very  natural  inquiry, 


A   LEGEND    OF   THE    OLD    ELM. 


109 


he  looked  round  and  saw  that  his  genius  had  vanished  -  mto 
the  air,"  probably  like  Macbeth's  wit(;lies.     He  was  not  to  be 
disheartened  or  daunted,  however;  so  he  resolutely  commenced 
delving,  with  the  zeal  of  an  ardent  money- 
digger.     He  turned  up  many  a  good  rood 
of°soil  without  meeting  the  precious  ore, 
when  his  fears  got  the  better  of  his  dis- 
cretion, and  his  fa^^^y  busily  peopled  the 
obs(  ure  tops  and  limbs  of  the  old  tree  with 
all   mmnti   oi    ^loteoipiL   bluptb  and  ^ib 


THE   MONEY-DIGGER. 


bering  monsters,  and  he  fancied  that  the  evil  spirits  of  de- 
parted malefactors  were  celebrating  their  festival  orgies,  and 
making  merry  with  their  infernal  dances  around  him. 


110  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

llis  fear  had  increased  to  agony.  The  spade  dropped  from 
his  powerless  hand,  his .  hair  bristled  with  terror,  and  his  great 
eyes  nearly  leaped  from  his  head  in  his  endeavor  to  penetrate 
the  gloom  that  surrounded  him.  Once  more  his  mysterious 
guide  stood  before  him  ;  but  one  glance  of  his  awfully  altered 
face  completed  the  climax  of  his  fright.  Those  large  black, 
lustrous  eyes  now  kindled  like  two  balls  of  flame ;  and  as  their 
fiendish  lustre  glared  upon  him,  he  shrank  back  as  from  a 
scorching  flame.  A  nose,  enormous  and  rubicund  as  the  car- 
buncle of  the  East,  protruded  many  a  rood  from  the  fece  of 
his  evil  spirit,  and  immense  whiskers,  rough  and  shaggy  as  the 
lion's  mane,  flowed  around  his  visage.  The  gold-monster  con- 
tinued to  frown  upon  him  fearfully,  till  at  length  the  bewildered 
eyes  of  Mike  could  look  no  longer,  and  he  fell  to  the  earth 
utterly  senseless. 

When  Mike  awoke,  the  morning  sun  was  looking  cheerfully 
into  his  own  chamber  window,  and  the  birds  that  make  merry 
in  every  bright  summer  morning  w^ere  singing  gayly  on  tlie 
house-eaves  above  his  head.  He  rubbed  his  eyes  in  astonish- 
ment, and  was  in  douljt  whether  he  had  not  lost  his  senses,  or 
whether  the  visitor,  the  money,  the  walk  of  midnight,  and  the 
horrible  goblin,  were  not  all  the  mere  creations  of  a  dream. 

While  lost  in  these  doubts  and  difficulties,  a  neighbor  oppor- 
tunely stepped  in,  to  whom  he  related  the  wdiole  scene,  adding 
at  the  same  time  suitable  embellishments  to  the  appearance  of 
the  fiend-like  apparition  which  had  haunted  him. 

His  friend  heard  him  for  some  time  expatiate  on  the  miracu- 
lous adventure,  but  at  length  could  preserve  his  gravity  no 
longer,  and  burst  forth  in  a  loud  ha !  ha  !  lia  !  When  he  had 
recovered  sufficient  breath  to  articulate,  lie  confessed  to  tlie 
electrified  Mike  that  his  visitor  was  no  other  than  himself,  and 
that  he  had  practised  the  hoax  in  order  to  decide  a  wager  with 
mine  host  of  the  Boar's  Head,  who  had  bet  a  dozen  of  his 
choicest  bin  that  no  one  could  get  the  better  of  shrewd  Mike 
Wild  of  the  Nortli  End. 


ROXBURY    PUDDING-STONE. 


Ill 


ROXBURY   PUDDING-STONE. 


IN  those  pleasant  suburban  districts 
formerly  the  towns  of  Eoxbury 
and  Dorchester,  the  rock  everywhere 
seen  in  the  roadside  walls  and 
outcropping  ledges  is  the  very  curi- 
ous conglomerate  familiarly  known 
as  pudding-stone  ;  so  called,  no 
doubt,  on  account  of  the  pebbles 
that  are  imbedded  so  solidly  within 
the  cooled  mass  as  now  to  form  a 
part  of  it.  Eejecting  all  scientific 
hypotheses  in  favor  of  a  legend, 
the  genial  Dr.  Holmes  accounts  for  \^^ 
the  geological  phenomenon  in  his 
own  felicitous  way  in  the  "Dorches- 
ter Giant,"  thus  enabling  us  to  conclude 
with  the  customary  geological  description, 


of   Boston  that  were 


OLD    MILE -STONE. 

our   historical   piecus 


THE  DOECHESTER   GIANT. 

OLIVER   WENDELL    HOLMES. 

There  was  a  Giant  in  time  of  old, 

A  mighty  one  was  he  ; 
He  had  a  wife,  but  she  was  a  scold. 
So  he  kept  her  shut  in  his  mammoth  fold  ; 

And  he  had  children  three. 

Then  the  Giant  took  his  children  three. 

And  fastened  them  in  the  pen  ; 
The  children  roared  ;  quoth  the  Giant,  "Be  still!" 
And  Dorchester  Heights  and  Milton  Hill 

Rolled  back  the  sound  again. 


112  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Then  lie  brought  them  a  pudding  stuffed  with  plums, 

As  big  as  the  State-House  dome  ; 
Quoth  he,  "  There 's  something  for  you  to  eat ; 
So  stop  your  mouths  ynih  your  'lection  treat, 

And  wait  till  your  dad  comes  home." 


What  are  those  loved  ones  doing  now, 

The  wife  and  children  sad  ? 
Oh,  they  are  in  a  terrible  rout, 
Screaming  and  throwing  their  pudding  about, 

Acting  as  they  were  mad. 

They  flung  it  over  to  Roxbury  hills. 

They  flung  it  over  the  plain, 
And  all  over  Milton  and  Dorchester  too. 
Great  lumps  of  pudding  the  giants  threw. 

They  tumbled  as  thick  as  rain. 

And  if,  some  pleasant  afternoon. 

You  'U  ask  nie  out  to  ride, 
The  w-hole  of  the  story  I  will  tell. 
And  you  may  see  where  the  puddings  fell, 

And  pay  for  the  punch  beside. 


CAMBRIDGE    LEGENDS. 


THE  WASHINGTON   ELM. 


THIS  patriarch  among  trees  is  one  of  those  perishable  his- 
toric objects  we  can  stiU  point  to  with  a  feeling  of  satis- 
faction that  it  continues  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  vigorous  old  age. 
Long  live  the  Washington  Elm  !  It  has  survived  the  renowned 
Charter  Oak,  it  outlives  its  venerated  neighbor,  the  Boston  Elm  ; 
and,  though  much  shattered  "  alow  and  aloft,"  it  bids  fair  to 
round  the  century  with  head  proudly  erect,  as  the  living  link 
joining  the  settlement  of  the  country  with  the  era  of  its  greatest 
prosperity. 

The  historic  elm-tree  stands  in  the  public  highway,  by  the 
side  of  the  Common,  in  the  city  of  Cambridge.  The  Common 
was  the  training-field  of  the  first  republican  army,  formed  almost 
as  if  by  magic,  in  the  years  '75  and  '76,  of  glorious  memory. 
Beyond  the  elm  of  renown,  on  the  other  side,  are  the  quaint 
old  College  buildings,  which  then  served  as  barracks  for  this 
army  ;  while  scattered  round  about  the  neighborhood  are  many 
of  the  residences  that  the  chances  of  war  turned  into  quarters 
for  the  officers  when  they  were  vacated  in  a  hurry  by  their 
Tory  owners.  So  that  many  vestiges  of  those  stirring  times 
remain  to  attract  the  visitor  to  one  of  the  most  historic  places 
of  the  Commonwealth. 

Many  pilgrims  wend  their  way  to  the  spot  where  the  massive 
old  tree-trunk  —  the  Washington  Ehn  —  shakes  out  its  annual 


116 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


foliage,  that  is  like  the  ivy  clinging  and  clustering  about  a  ruin. 
As  a  tree,  it  would  be  sure  to  command  attention  on  account  of 
its  apparent  great  age  ;  but  it  is  something  more  than  a  tree. 
Silent  witness  to  all  the  scenes  that  have  been  enacted  here 
since  the  white  men  first  forced  their  way  through  the  thickets 
covering  the  surrounding  plain,  it  is  as  much  an  object  of  ven- 
eration to  the  citizens  as  if  it  were  really  able  to  impart  what 


THE   WASniNGTON   ELM. 


it  had  seen.  May  its  shadow  never  be  less  !  It  saw  the  mus- 
tering of  the  raw  Provincial  levies  for  the  seven  years'  march 
to  Yorktown  ;  it  has  been  blackened  by  cannon-smoke,  has  seen 
the  glittering  circle  of  camp-fires  lighting  the  long  line  of  an 
investing  army  steadily  tightening  its  coils  about  the  beleaguered 
capital.  Dut  one  thing,  above  others,  invests  it  with  a  grandeur 
inseparable  from  him  who  was  the  noblest  Koman  of  them  all. 


THE   WASHINGTON    ELM. 


117 


The  inscription  placed  at  the  base  of  the  tree  tells  the  whole 
story  ;  to  this  it  is  unnecessary  to  add  a  single  word  : 


UNDER   THIS   TREE 

WASHINGTON 

FIRST  TOOK  COMMAND 

OF  THE 

AMERICAN  ARMY, 

JULY  3",  1775. 


THE  WASHINGTON"  ELM. 

MRS.    L.    N.    SIGOURNEY. 

Words  !  words,  Old  Tree  !     Thou  hast  an  aspect  fair, 

A  vigorous  heart,  a  heaven-aspiring  crest  ; 
And  sleepless  memories  of  the  days  that  were. 

Lodge  in  thy  branches,  like  the  song-bird's  nest. 

Words !  give  us  words !     Methought  a  gathering  blast 
Mid  its  green  leaves  began  to  murmur  low, 

Shaping  its  utterance  to  the  mighty  Past, 

That  backward  came,  on  pinions  floating  slow  : 

"The  ancient  masters  of  the  soil  I  knew, 

Whose  cane-roofed  wigwams  flecked  the  forest-brown  ; 
Their  hunter-footsteps  swept  the  early  dew. 

And  their  keen  arrow  struck  the  eagle  down. 

«  I  heard  the  bleak  December  tempest  moan 

When  the  tossed  '  Mayflower'  moored  in  Plymouth  Bay 

And  watched  yon  classic  walls  as,  stone  by  stone. 
The  fathers  reared  them  slowly  toward  the  day. 

"  But  lo  !  a  mighty  Chieftain  'neath  my  shade 

Drew  his  bright  sword  and  reared  his  dauntless  head  ; 

And  Liberty  sprang  forth  from  rock  and  glade 
And  donned  her  helmet  for  the  hour  of  dread  : 


118  NEW-EXGLAXD   LEGENDS. 

While  in  the  hero's  heart  there  dwelt  a  prayer 
That  Heaven's  protecting  arm  might  never  cease 

To  make  his  young,  endangered  land  its  care, 

Till  through  the  war-cloud  looked  the  angel  Peace. 

"  Be  wise,  my  children,"  said  that  ancient  Tree, 
In  earnest  tone,  as  though  a  Mentor  spake, 

"  And  prize  the  blood-bought  birthright  of  the  free, 
And  firmly  guard  it  for  your  countrv^'s  sake." 

Thanks,  thanks,  Old  Elm  !  and  for  this  counsel  sage. 
May  Heaven  thy  brow  with  added  beauty  grace, 

Grant  richer  emeralds  to  thy  crown  of  age, 
And  changeless  honors  from  a  future  race. 


THE   WASHINGTON    ELM. 

JAMES    RUSSELL    LOWELL. 

Beneath  our  consecrated  elm 

A  century  ago  he  stood, 

Famed  vaguely  for  that  old  fight  in  the  wood 

Whose  red  surge  sought,  but  could  not  overwhelm 

The  life  foredoomed  to  wield  our  rough-hewn  helm 

From  colleges,  where  now  the^  gown 

To  arms  had  yielded,  from  the  town, 

Our  rude  self-summoned  levies  flocked  to  see 

The  new-come  chiefs,  and  wonder  which  was  he. 

No  need  to  question  long  ;  close-lipped  and  tall, 

Long  trained  in  murder-brooding  forests  lone 

To  bridle  others'  clamors  and  his  own, 

Firmly  erect,  he  towered  above  them  aU, 

Tlie  incarnate  discipline  that  was  to  free 

Willi  iron  curb  that  armed  democracv. 


Musing  beneath  the  legendary  tree, 

The  years  between  furl  off  ;  I  seem  to  see 

The  sun-Hecks,  shaken  the  stirred  foliage  through, 

Dapple  with  gold  his  sober  buff  and  blue. 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    HIGHWAYMEN.  119 

And  weave  prophetic  aureoles  round  the  head 

That  shines  our  beacon  now,  nor  darkens  with  the  dead. 

0  man  of  silent  mood, 

A  stranger  among  strangeis  then, 

How  art  thou  since  renowned  the  Great,  the  Good, 

Familiar  as  the  day  in  all  the  homes  of  men  ! 

The  winged  years,  that  winnow  praise  and  Ijlame, 

Blow  many  names  out  ;  they  but  fan  to  flame 

The  self-renewing  splendors  of  thy  fame. 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   HIGHWAYMEN. 

MICHAEL  MAETIN,  alias  Captain  Lightfoot,  after  a 
checkered  career  iu  Ireland,  his  native  country,  and 
in  Scotland,  as  a  highway  rohber,  became  in  1819  a  fugitive  to 
America,  He  first  landed  at  Salem,  where  he  obtained  employ- 
ment as  a  farm-laborer.  But  a  life  of  honest  toil  not  being  so 
congenial  to  him  as  that  of  a  bandit,  he  again  took  to  his  old 
occupation  on  the  road,  this  time  making  Canada  the  scene  of 
his  exploits. 

After  committing  many  robberies  there  and  in  Vermont  and 
Xew  Hampshire,  and  always  eluding  capture,  Martin  at  length 
arrived  in  Boston.  He  at  once  began  his  bold  operations  upon 
the  highway ;  but  here  his  usual  good  luck  deserted  him.  His 
first  and  last  victim  was  Major  John  Bray,  of  Boston.  Martin 
had  somehow  found  out  that  His  Excellency  Governor  Brooks 
intended  giving  a  dinner-party  at  his  mansion  in  Medford  on  a 
certain  afternoon,  and  he  had  determined  to  waylay  some  of 
the  company  on  their  return,  shrew^dly  guessing  that  they  might 
be  well  worth  the  picking.  In  fact,  as  Major  Bray  was  driving 
leisurely  homeward  in  his  chaise  over  the  Medford  turnpike,  he 
was  suddenly  stopped  by  a  masked  horseman,  who  presented  a 
pistol  and  sternly  commanded  him  to  deliver  up  his  valuables. 


120  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

The  place  was  a  lonely  one,  and  well  chosen  for  the  robber's  pur- 
pose. The  astounded  Major  handed  over  his  watch  and  his 
purse.  Having  secured  his  booty,  the  highwayman  wheeled  his 
horse,  gave  him  the  spuT,  and  galloped  off;  while  his  frightened 
ard  crestfallen  victim,  lashing  his  horse  to  a  run,  raised  a  hue- 
and-cry  at  the  nearest  house. 

Martin  fled.  He  was  hotly  pursued,  and  was  taken,  after  a 
chase  of  a  hundred  miles,  asleep  in  bed  at  Springfield.  The 
officers  brought  him  back,  and  lodged  him  in  East  Cambridge 
jail  to  await  his  trial.  He  was  tried  at  the  next  assizes  for 
highway  robbery,  was  convicted,  and  sentenced  to  be  hanged. 
This  being  the  first  trial  occurring  under  the  statute  punish- 
ing such  an  offence,  it  naturally  created  a  great  deal  of  stir,  and 
when  the  prisoner  was  brought  to  the  bar,  the  court-room  was 
thronged  with  curious  spectators.  Throughout  the  proceedings 
the  prisoner  Avas  perfectly  cool.  As  the  pupil  of  the  celebrated 
Thunderbolt,  he  had  a  reputation  to  maintain ;  and  when  the 
judge,  putting  on  the  black  cap,  pronounced  the  awful  sentence 
of  death,  he  dryly  observed  :  "  Well,  that 's  the  worst  you  can  do 
for  me." 

The  doomed  man,  however,  made  one  desperate  effort  to 
escape  from  prison.  He  had  found  some  way  to  procure  a  file, 
with  which  he  filed  off  his  irons  so  that  he  could  remove  them 
whenever  he  liked  ;  and  when  the  turnkey  one  morning  came 
into  the  cell,  he  being  off  his  guard,  tlie  prisoner,  using  his  irons 
as  a  weapon,  felled  him  to  the  ground  with  a  savage  blow  on 
the  head,  and  leaving  him  stunned  and  bleeding  upon  the  floor 
of  the  cell,  rushed  out  of  the  open  door  into  the  prison-yard. 
The  outer  Avails  were  too  high  to  be  scaled,  and  free  passage 
into  the  street  was  barred  by  a  massive  oaken  gate.  But  this  did 
not  stop  the  resolute  highwayman,  who  was  a  man  of  herculean 
strength.  Dashing  himself  repeatedly,  with  all  his  force,  against 
it,  he  at  last  succeeded  in  breaking  the  gate  open,  and  passing 
quickly  through,  he  emerged  into  the  street  beyond  ;  but  being 
exhausted  by  his  frantic  efforts  to  escape,  after  a  short  flight 
his  pursuers  overtook  and  secured  him.     He  was  loaded  with 


THE   ELIOT   OAK.  121 

irons  and  chained  to  his  cell.  After  this  desperate  attempt  to 
gain  his  liberty,  he  was  guarded  with  greater  vigilance  until  the 
day  appointed  for  his  execution,  when  the  "  Last  of  the  High- 
waymen" paid  the  penalty  of  his  crimes  upon  the  scaffold. 


THE   ELIOT   OAK. 

IN  that  part  of  Boston  formerly  constituting  the  town  of 
Brighton,  and  still  farther  back  forming  a  precinct  of  Cam- 
bridge, there  is  a  pleasant  locality  called  Oak  Square.  It  was 
so  named  on  account  of  the  old  oak-tree  which  stood  there, 
and  which  is  probably  better  known  as  the  Eliot  Oak. 

This  gigantic  relic  of  the  primeval  forest  Avas  in  its  day  the 
largest  and  the  oldest  tree  of  its  species  growing  within  the  four 
boundaries  of  the  old  Bay  State,  and  it  was  officially  declared 
to  be  so  by  a  scientific  commission  Avhich  was  charged  with 
making  a  botanical  survey  of  the  State.  The  declaration  is 
made  that  "It  had  probably  passed  its  prime  centuries  before 
the  first  English  voice  was  heard  on  the  shores  of  Massachusetts 
Bay."  Its  circumference  at  the  ground  was  given  at  twenty- 
five  feet  and  nine  inches,  or  two  feet  more  than  that  of  the 
Great  Elm  of  Boston.  Through  decay  the  trunk  became  hollow 
at  the  base,  furnishing  a  cavity  large  enough  to  serve  as  a  hid- 
ing-place for  the  schoolboys  who  played  under  the  shade  of  its 
wide-spreading  branches.  The  enormous  weight  of  these,  with 
their  foliage,  was  at  last  supported  by  a  mere  shell  of  trunk, 
and  as  every  gale  threatened  to  lay  it  low,  to  the  regret  of  thou- 
sands, the  brave  old  oak  was  through  a  hard  necessity  compelled 
to  bite  the  dust.  By  an  order  of  the  town  it  was  cut  down  in 
May,  1855. 

A  little  west  of  this  tree  was  the  former  site  of  the  wigwam 
of  "Waban,  Chief  of  the  Nonantums,  and  he  must  often  have 
rested  under  its  generous  shade.     The  old  Indian  trail  extended 


THE    ELTOT   OAK,    •BUIGUTON. 


ELIOT'S    OAK.  123 

from  this  tree  nortlieast  to  the  Charles  River,  connecting  the 
settlement  here  with  the  Colleges  at  Old  Cambridge. 

Tradition  says  that  the  Apostle  Eliot  of  glorious  memory 
preaclied  to  the  Indians  here  under  this  oak.  We  are  amazed 
to  think  of  it  as  then  being  —  near  two  centuries  and  a  half  ago 
—  in  its  vigorous  maturity.  This  is  the  incident  which  the 
poet  Longfellow  embalms  in  his  sonnet,  the  scene  being,  how- 
ever, transferred  to  Natick,  Massachusetts,  where  these  Indians, 
by  the  advice  of  Eliot,  founded  one  of  their  Praying  Towns, 
and  adopted  the  customs  of  civilized  life. 


ELIOT'S     OAK. 

H.    W.    LONGFELLOW. 

Thou  ancient  oak !  whose  myriad  leaves  are  loud 
With  sounds  of  unintelligible  speech, 
Sounds  as  of  surges  on  a  shingly  beach, 
Or  multitudinous  murmurs  of  a  crowd ; 

With  some  mysterious  gift  of  tongues  endowed, 
Thou  speakest  a  different  dialect  to  each  ; 
To  me  a  language  that  no  man  can  teach. 
Of  a  lost  race,  long  vanished  like  a  cloud. 

For  underneath  thy  shade,  in  days  remote. 
Seated  like  Abraham  at  eventide 
Beneath  the  oaks  of  Mamre,  the  unknown 

Apostle  of  the  Indians,  Eliot,  wrote 
His  Bible  in  a  language  that  hath  died 
And  is  forgotten,  save  by  thee  alone. 


LYNN    AND    NAHANT    LEGENDS. 


''"""r''  '^  ~      III'!  ■■ 


LYNN  AND   NAHANT   LEGENDS. 

THE  vivid  and  life-like  description  of  the  coast  scenery  of 
ancient  Saugus,  borrowed  from  "The  Bridal  of  Penna- 
cook,"  is  a  most  fitting  introduction  to  our  legends ;  for  nowhere 
could  a  wilder  or  more  romantic  region,  or  one  embodying  more 
striking  natural  traits,  prepare  the  mind  for  receiving  those  weird 
tales  which  so  truly  present  to  it  the  superstitious  side  of  old 
New  England  life. 

A  wild  and  broken  landscape,  spiked  with  firs, 
Eoughening  the  bleak  horizon's  northern  edge. 

Steep,  cavernous  hillsides,  where  black  hemlock  spurs 
And  sharp,  gray  splinters  of  the  wind-swept  ledge 

Pierced  the  thin-glazed  ice,  or  bristling  rose. 

Where  the  cold  rim  of  the  sky  sunk  down  upon  the  snows. 


And  eastward  cold,  wide  marshes  stretched  away. 
Dull  dreary  flats  without  a  bush  or  tree, 

O'er-crossed  by  icy  creeks,  where  twice  a  day 
Gurgled  the  waters  of  the  moon-struck  sea  ; 

And  faint  with  distance  came  the  stifled  roar, 

The  mehxncholy  lapse  of  waves  on  that  low  shore. 


128  NEW-EXGLAND   LEGENDS. 


THE   BRIDAL   OF   PENNACOOK. 


IN  the  "  Bridal  of  Pennacook,"  Mr.  Whittier,  who  is  himself 
at  once  the  product  and  the  poet  of  this  romantic  coast, 
tells  us  that  he  chanced  upon  the  motive  of  the  poem  while 
poring  over 

An  old  chronicle  of  border  wars 
And  Indian  history. 

This  was  undoubtedly  Thomas  Morton's  "  Xew  English  Ca- 
naan,"—  a  book  which  the  Puritans  indignantly  denominated 
"scandalous,"  and  for  which  they  imprisoned  the  author  a 
whole  year,  then  dismissing  him  with  a  fine.  But  aside  from  its 
merciless  ridicule  of  them  and  their  ways,  its  value  as  "  Indian 
history  "  is  duly  certified  by  most  competent  judges,  one  of 
whom  says  that  Morton's  description  of  the  Indians  "  is  su- 
perior to  that  of  most  authors  before  his  time  ;  and  though  he 
sometimes  indulges  his  imagination,  yet  this  part  of  his  Avork  is 
of  exceeding  great  value  to  inquirers  about  the  primitive  inhabi- 
tants of  'New  England." 

The  poet  goes  on  to  relate,  that  among  the  ill-assorted  collec- 
tion of  books  forming  his  landlord's  library  he  found  this  old 
chronicle,  wherein  he  read,  — 

A  story  of  the  marriage  of  the  Chief 
Of  Saugus  to  the  dusky  "Weetamoo, 
Daughter  of  Passaconaway,  who  dwelt 
In  the  old  time  upon  the  Merrimack. 

This  is  the  story  as  it  is  related  by  Morton.  Winnepurkit, 
the  son  of  Nanapashemet,  or  the  New  JNIoon,  was  the  Sagamore  of 
Saugus,  Naumkeag,  and  Massabequash,  —  now  known  as  Saugus, 
Lynn,  Salem,  and  Marblehead.     When  he  came  to  man's  estate 


THE    BRIDAL    OF    PENNACOOK. 


129 


this  young  sachem,  who  was  both  valiant  and  of  noble  blood, 
made  choice  for  his  wife  of  the  daughter  of  Passaconaway,  the 
great  chieftain  of  the  tribes  inhabiting  the  valley  of  the  Merri- 
mack. Not  only  was  Passaconaway  a  mighty  chief  in  war  or 
peace,  but  he  was  also  the  greatest  powow,  or  wizard,  of  whom 


AN   INDIAN   PKINCESS. 


we  have  any  account.  Indeed  the  powers  attributed  to  him  by 
the  English  colonists  would  almost  surpass  belief,  were  they  not 
fully  vouched  for  by  the  learned  and  reverend  chroniclers  of  that 
day,  who  gravely  assert  that  so  skilled  was  he  in  the  arts  of 
necromancy,  that  he  could  cause  a  green  leaf  to  grow  in  winter. 


130  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

trees  to  dance,  water  to  burn,  and  the  like  marvels  to  appear  in 
the  course  of  his  mystical  invocations. 

With  the  consent  and  good  liking  of  this  redoubtable  saga- 
more, Winnepurkit  ^yooed  and  married  the  daughter  of  Passa- 
conaway.  Bountiful  was  the  entertainment  that  he  and  his 
attendants  received  at  her  father's  hands,  according  to  the  cus- 
tom of  his  people  when  celebrating  an  event  of  this  kind,  and 
such,  as  suited  the  exalted  rank  of  the  bride  and  groom. 
Feasting  and  revelry  succeeded,  or  rather  they  made  a  part  of 
the  marriage  solemnities,  as  with  all  ancient  peoples.  The  cere- 
monies being  over,  Passaconaway  caused  a  select  number  of  his 
braves  to  escort  his  daughter  into  the  territories  belonging  to  her 
lord  and  husband,  Avhere  being  safely  come,  they  were,  in  a  like 
manner,  most  hospitably  entertained  by  Winnepurkit  and  his 
men,  and  when  they  were  ready  to  depart,  were  generously 
rewarded    with  gifts  for  their  loving  care  and  service. 

!N"ot  long  afterward  the  newly  wedded  princess  was  seized  with 
a  passionate  longing  to  revisit  once  again  her  native  country,  and 
to  behold  once  more  the  face  of  the  mighty  chief,  her  father. 
Her  lord  listened  to  her  prayer,  which  seemed  reasonable  enough, 
and  he  therefore,  in  all  love  and  kindness  for  her  welfare,  chose 
a  picked  body  from  among  his  most  trusted  warriors  to  conduct 
his  lady  to  her  father,  to  whom  they  with  great  respect  presently 
brought  her  safe  and  sound;  and  then,  after  being  graciously 
received  and  as  graciously  dismissed,  they  returned  to  give  an 
account  of  their  errand,  leaving  their  princess  to  continue  among 
her  friends  at  her  own  good  will  and  pleasure.  After  some  stay 
in  her  old  home  by  the  beautiful  mountain  river,  the  lady  signi- 
fied her  desire  to  go  back  to  her  husband  again,  upon  which  Pas- 
saconaway sent  an  embassy  to  Winnepurkit  with  order  to  notify 
him  of  this  wish  on  her  part,  and  to  request  that  the  Sachem 
of  Saugus,  his  son-in-law,  miglit  at  once  despatch  a  suitable 
guard  to  escort  his  wife  back  through  the  wilderness  to  her  home. 
But  Winnepurkit,  strictly  standing  for  his  honor  and  reputation 
as  a  chief,  bade  the  messengers  to  carry  his  fother-in-law  this 
answer  ;    "  That  when  his  wife  departed  from  him,  he  caused 


THE   BEIDAL   OF   PENNACOOK.  131 

his  own  men  to  wait  upon  her  to  her  father's  territories,  as  did 
become  him  ;  but  now  that  she  had  an  intent  to  return,  it  did 
become  her  father  to  send  her  back  with  a  convoy  of  his  own 
people;  and  that  it  stood  not  with  Winnepurkit's  reputation 
either  to  make  himself  or  his  men  so  servile  as  to  fetch  her 

again."  ,    .  , 

Thereupon  the  old  sachem,  Passaconaway,  was  much  incensed 
at  haviiK.  this  curt  answer  returned  to  him  by  one  whom  he 
considereTl  at  most  only  a  petty  chief  and  a  vassal;  and  being 
moreover  sadly  nettled  to  think  that  his  son-in-law  should  pre- 
tend to  give  him,  Passaconaway,  a  lesson  in  good-breeding,  or 
did  not  esteem  him  more  highly  than  to  make  this  a  matter  for 
negotiation,  sent  back  thi.  sharp  reply:  " That  his  daughters 
blood  and  birth  deserved  more  respect  than  to  be  slighted  m 
such  a  manner,  and  therefore  if  he  (Winnepurkit)  would  have 
her  company,  he  were  best  to  send  or  come  for  her. 

The  young  sachem,  not  being  willing  to  undervalue  himself 
and  being  withal  a  man  of  stout  spirit,  did  not  hesitate  to  tell 
his  indicaiant  father-in-law  that  he  must  either  send  his  daughter 
home  in  charge  of  his  own  escort,  or  else  he  might  keep  her  ; 
since  Winnepurkit  was,  for  his  own  part,  fully  determined  not 
to  stoop  so  low.  . 

As  neither  would  yield,  the  poor  princess  remained  with  her 
father  -at  least  until  Morton,  the  narrator,  left  the  country; 
but  she  is  supposed  to  have  finally  rejoined  her  haughty  spouse, 
though  in  what  way  does  not  appear  in  the  later  relation  before 
us  She  was  no  true  woman,  however,  if  she  failed  to  discover 
a  means  to  soften  the  proud  heart  of  Winnepurkit,  who  after 
all  was  perhaps  only  too  ready  to  accord  to  her  tears  and  her 
entreaties  what  he  had  so  loftily  refused  at  the  instigation  of  a 
punctiliousness  that  was  worthy  of  the  days  of  chivalry.        _ 

The  poet  has  made  a  most  felicitous  use  of  this  story,  into 
which  are  introduced  some  descriptions  of  the  scenery  of  the 
Merrimack  of  exceeding  beauty  and  grace.  The  poem  has, 
however,  a  more  dramatic  ending  than  the  prose-tale  we  have 
just  "iven.     In  the  poem  the  heart-broken  and  deserted  bride  ot 


132  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Peiuiacook  at  last  determines  to  brave  the  perils  of  the  swollen 
and  turbid  Merrimack  alone,  to  seek  the  wigwam  of  her  dusky 
husband.  Stealing  away  from  her  companions,  she  launches 
her  frail  canoe  upon  the  bosom  of  the  torrent,  and  is  instantly 
swept  by  it,  — 

Down  the  vexed  centre  of  that  rushing  tide. 
The  thick  huge  ice-blocks  threatening  either  side. 
The  foam-white  rocks  of  Amoskeag  in  view, 
With  arrowy  swiftness  — 


Down  the  white  rapids  like  a  sere  leaf  whirled, 
On  the  sharp  rocks  and  piled-up  ices  hurled. 
Empty  and  broken,  circled  the  canoe 
In  the  vexed  pool  below  —  but  where  was 
Weetamoo  ? 


THE   PIRATES'   GLEN. 

THE  year  1658  was  signalized  in  New  England  by  a  great 
earthquake,  which  is  mentioned  in  some  of  the  old  chron- 
icles. Connected  with  this  convulsion,  which  in  the  olden 
time  was  regarded  as  a  most  signal  mark  of  the  displeasure  of 
Heaven,  is  the  following  story.  There  are,  it  should  be  said, 
two  or  three  circumstances,  or  rather  facts,  giving  to  this  legend 
a  color  of  authenticity,  which  are  of  themselves  sufficient  to 
create  a  doubt  whether,  after  all,  it  has  not  a  more  substantial 
foundation  than  lias  generally  been  conceded  to  it.  AVe  will- 
ingly give  it  the  benefit  of  this  doubt;  meanwhile  contenting 
ourselves  with  the  statement  that  its  first  appearance  in  print, 
so  far  as  known  to  the  writer,  was  in  Lewis's  "  History  of  Lynn." 
But  here  is  the  legend  in  all  its  purity. 


THE  pirates'  glen.  133 

Some  time  previous  to  the  great  earthquake,  in  the  twilight 
of  a  pleasant  evening  on  the  coast,  a  small  tark  was  seen  to 
approach  the  shore,  furl  her  sails,  and  drop  her  anchor  near  the 
mouth  of  Saugus  River.     A  boat  was  presently  lowered  from 
her  side,  which  four  men  got  into  and  rowed  silently  up  the 
river  to  where  it  enters  the  hills,  when  they  landed,  and  plunged 
into  the  woods  skirting  the  banks.     These  movements  had  been 
noticed  by  only  a  few  individuals  ;  but  in  those  early  times, 
when  the  people  were  surrounded  by  dangers  and  were  easily 
alarmed,  such  an  incident  was  well  calculated  to  awaken  sus- 
picion, so  that  in  the  course  of  the  evening  the  intelligence  had 
spread  from  house  to  house,  and  many  were  the  conjectures 
respecting  the  strangers'  business.      In  the  morning  all  eyes 
were  naturally  directed   toward   the   shore,  in   search    of  the 
stranger- vessel :    but  she  was   no   longer  there,   and   no  trace 
either  of  her  or  of  her  singular  crew  could  be  found.     It  was  af- 
terward learned,  however,  that  on  the  morning  of  the  vessel's 
disappearance  a  workman,  upon  going  to  his  daily  task  at  the 
Forge,  on  the  river's  bank,  had  found  a  paper  running  to  the 
effect  that  if  a  certain  quantity  of  shackles,  handcuffs,  and  other 
articles  named  were  made,  and  with  secrecy  deposited  in  a  cer- 
tain place  in  the  woods,  which  was  particularly  described,  an 
amount  of  silver  equal  to  their  full  value  would  be  found  in 
their  stead.     The  manacles  were  duly  made  and  secreted,  in 
conformity   with   the   strange   directions.      On   the    following 
morning  they  had  been  taken  away,  and  the  money  left  accord- 
ing to  the  letter  of  the  promise ;  but  notwithstanding  the  fact 
that  a  strict  watch  had  been  kept,  no  sign  of  a  vessel  could  be 
discovered  in  the  offing.     Some  months  later  than  this  event, 
which  had  furnished  a  fruitful  theme  for  the  village  gossips, 
the  four  men  returned,  and  selected  one  of  the  most  secluded 
and  romantic  spots  in  the  woods  of  Saugus  for  their  abode  ;  and 
the  tale  has  been  further  embeUished  to  the  effect  that  the 
pirate  chief  brought  with  him  a  beautiful  woman.     The  place 
of  their  retreat  was  a  deep  and  narrow  valley,  shut  in  on  two 
sides  by  craggy,  precipitous  rocks,  and  screened  on  the  others 


134  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

by  a  thick  growth  of  pines,  hemlocks,  and  cedars.  There  was 
only  one  small  spot  to  which  the  rays  of  the  noonday  sun  could 
penetrate.  Upon  climbing  the  rude  and  nearly  perpendicular 
steep  of  the  cliff  on  the  eastern  side  of  tills  glen,  the  eye  com- 
manded a  noble  expanse  of  sea  stretching  far  to  the  south,  be- 
sides a  wide  extent  of  the  surrounding  country.  No  spot  on 
the  coast  could  have  been  better  chosen  for  the  double  purpose 
of  concealment  and  observation.  Even  at  this  day,  when  the 
neighborhood  has  become  thickly  peopled,  it  is  still  a  lonely 
and  desolate  place,  whose  gloomy  recesses  are  comparatively 
unknown  and  unvisited.  Here  the  pirates  built  themselves  a 
small  hut,  made  a  garden,  and  dug  a  well,  of  which  some  traces 
still  remain.  It  is  supposed  that  they  also  buried  money  here, 
and  search  has  been  made  for  it  at  various  times,  but  none  has 
ever  been  found ;  and  to  deepen  the  mystery,  it  is  said  that  the 
pirate's  mistress,  who  is  described  as  very  pale  and  beautiful, 
having  sickened  and  died,  was  buried  here  in  an  unknown  grave, 
under  the  thick  shade  of  the  pines.  After  a  time  the  retreat  of 
the  pirates  became  noised  about.  They  were  traced  to  their  glen. 
Three  of  them  were  taken  to  England,  —  there  being  at  that 
time  no  law  in  the  Colony  to  punish  piracy,  —  where  it  is  sup- 
posed that  they  paid  the  penalty  for  their  crimes  upon  the  gib- 
bet. The  third,  whose  name  was  Thomas  Veale,  escaped  to  a 
cavern  in  the  woods,  which  he  and  his  confederates  had  previ- 
ously made  use  of  as  a  place  of  deposit  for  their  ill-gotten  booty. 
In  tliis  lonely  place  the  fugitive  fixed  his  residence,  practising 
the  trade  of  a  shoemaker,  and  occasionally  visiting  the  village 
to  obtain  food,  until  the  earthquake  which  ushered  in  the 
legend,  splitting  to  its  foundations  the  rock  in  which  the  cavern 
was  situated,  forever  sealed  the  entrance,  enclosing  the  doomed 
corsair  in  his  frightful  tomb.  This  cliff  has  ever  since  been 
known  as  Dungeon  Eock,  and  the  first  retreat  of  the  free- 
booters has  always  borne  the  name  of  The  Pirates'  Glen. 

The  sequel  to  the  legend  that  we  have  so  conscientiously 
related  to  the  reader,  is  more  striking  by  its  reality,  more  incred- 
ible, one  might  almost  say,  than  the  legend  itself  is,  with  all  its 


THE  pirates'  glen.  135 

dramatic  surroundings.  The  story  of  Dungeon  Eock  now  leaves 
the  reahu  of  the  legendary  for  that  of  active  supernatural 
agency  ;  and  it  may  be  douhted  if  the  whole  world  can  produce 
another  such  example  of  the  absorbing  pursuit  of  an  idea  which 
has  become  the  fixed  and  dominant  impulse  of  a  life.  But  first 
let  us  introduce  the  reader  to  the  locality  itself. 

Two  miles  out  of  the  city  of  Lynn,  in  the  heart  of  the  secluded 
and  romantic  region  overlooking  it,  is  a  hill  high  and  steep,  one 
side  of  which  is  a  naked  precipice  ;  the  other,  which  the  road 
ascends,  is  still  covered  with  a  magnificent  grove  of  oak-trees 
growing  among  enormous  bowlders,  and  clad,  when  I  saw  them, 
in  the  rags  of  their  autumnal  purple.  Few  wilder  or  more 
picturesque  spots  can  be  found  among  the  White  Hills  ;  and 
here  we  are  not  a  dozen  miles  removed  from  the  homes  of  half 
a  million  people.  The  rumored  existence  of  treasure  shut  up  in 
the  heart  of  this  cliff  by  the  earthquake  seems  to  have  found 
credit  in  the  neighborhood,  if  one  may  judge  from  the  evidences 
of  a  heavy  explosion  in  what  was  supposed  to  be  the  ancient 
vestibule  of  the  cavern,  where  a  yawning  rent  in  the  side  of  the 
ledge  is  blocked  up  with  tons  of  massy  debris  and  every  ves- 
tige of  what  was  perhaps  an  interesting  natural  curiosity  thus 
wantonly  destroyed. 

Under  the  direction  of  spirit  mediums,  the  work  of  piercing 
Dungeon  Eock  was  begun  by  Hiram  Marble  about  thirty  years 
ago,  and  has  continued,  with  little  intermission,  nearly  to  the 
present  time.  For  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century,  —  spurred 
on,  when  they  were  ready  to  abandon  the  work  in  despair,  by 
some  delusive  revelation  of  the  spirits,  —  father  and  son  toiled  on 
in  the  vain  hope  of  unlocking  its  secret.  Tons  upon  tons  oi 
the  broken  rock  have  been  removed  by  their  hands  alone,  for 
the  windings  of  the  gallery  make  any  mechanical  contrivance 
useless  for  the  purpose.  So  hard  is  the  natural  formation,  that 
they  sometimes  advanced  only  a  foot  in  a  month  ;  and  the  labor 
was  further  increased  by  the  accumulation  of  water,  which  is 
constantly  oozing  from  fissures  of  the  rock.  Death  at  length 
released  the  elder  enthusiast  from  his  infatuation  j  but  the  son 


136  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

pursued  the  work  as  the  most  sacred  of  trusts,  until  he  too  died 
in  the  same  fatal  delusion. 

A  woman  whom  I  found  in  the  cabin  on  the  summit,  and 
who  proved  to  be  the  treasure-seeker's  sister,  conducted  me  to 
the  entrance  of  the  shaft,  which  was  closed  by  a  grated  door, 
above  which  I  read  this  eminently  practical  legend  in  an  unprac- 
tical place  :  "Ye  who  enter  here,  leave  twenty -five  cents  behind." 
She  turned  the  key  in  the  lock,  swung  back  the  grating,  and  we 
began  to  descend,  first  by  a  series  of  steps  cut  in  the  rock,  then 
by  such  foothold  as  the  slippery  floor  afforded.  When  we 
arrived  at  the  extreme  limit  of  the  excavation,  we  had  come  not 
far  from  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  in  a  perpendicular  descent 
of  only  forty ;  yet  I  remarked  that  the  gallery  at  times  almost 
doubled  upon  itself,  in  order  to  accomplish  what  might  have 
been  reached  in  half  the  distance,  and,  of  course,  with  half  the 
labor,  in  a  direct  line,  —  which  would  seem  to  imply  that  the 
work  might  have  proceeded  more  expeditiously  under  the  direc- 
tion of  a  competent  mining  engineer.  Nothing  in  the  appear- 
ance of  the  rock  indicated  that  it  had  been  disturbed  since  the 
creation.  It  was  as  hard  as  adamant,  as  firm  as  marble,  as 
impenetrable  as  Fate. 

My  guide  pointed  out  the  supposed  locality  of  the  ancient 
entrance.  She  also  showed  me,  as  a  thing  to  which  the  fee  duly 
entitled  even  such  sceptics  as  myself,  the  fragment  of  a  corroded 
scabbard,  which  had  been  found,  she  said,  embedded  in  a  cranny 
within  the  excavation.  But  when  I  afterward  mentioned  this 
circumstance  to  the  poet  Longfellow,  who  was  familiar  with  the 
locality  and  its  story,  he  laughed  pleasantly,  and  said  that  unless 
his  memory  was  greatly  at  fault,  he  had  seen,  years  before,  during 
one  of  his  drives  in  the  neighborhood,  this  identical  thing  at  a 
blacksmith's  shop  where  he  had  stopped  on  some  errand.  Such 
questions  as  I  asked  were  freely  answered ;  but  she  talked  in  a 
Avay  that  was  almost  startling  in  its  matter-of-fact  assumption  of 
the  supernatural  as  the  controlling  element  in  one's  life  experi- 
ence. The  invisible  spirits  of  Dungeon  Rock  I  found  dealt  in 
enigmas  which  the  Delphic  oracle  could  never  have  surpassed ; 


MOLL    PITCHER. 


137 


yet  here  were  believers  wlu,  staked  their  lives  upon  the  truth  oi 
iitterances  equally  delusive  !  Here  the  problem  is  suggestively 
presented,  whether  latter-day  superstition,  acting  upon  the  weak 
and  impressible  nature,  is  on  the  whole  to  be  preferred,  either  m 
its  manifestations  or  results,  to  olden  delusion  as  exemphhed  m 
the  witches  or  wizards  of  our  forefathers.  Who  shall  say  1  1, 
at  any  rate,  found  this  visit  to  Dungeon  Kock  one  of  the  most 
singular  experiences  of  a  lifetime. 


I 


MOLL     PITCHER. 

N  passing  from  the  boundaries  of  Saugus  into  those  of  Lynn, 
^  a  word  or  two  acquaints  us  with  the  origin  of  both  places. 
Thomas  Dudley,  Deputy-Governor  of  "the  Massachusetts," 
writing  in  1630  to  the  "  Lady  Bryget,  Countesse  of  Lincoln," 
says  of  the  Colonists  who,  like  himself,  emigrated  in  that  year 
from  England,  "  We  began  to  consult  of  the  place  of  our  sitting 
down,  for  Salem,  where  we  landed,  pleased  us  not."  Various 
causes  having  led  to  their  dispersion  along  the  coast  from  Cape 
Ann  to  Nantasket,  one  of  the  scattered  bands  settled  "upon  the 
river  of  Saugus,"  as  he  writes ;  another  founded  Boston.  The 
Indian  name  Saugus,  which  still  belongs  to  the  river  and  to  a 
fra<rment  of  the  ancient  territory,  was  superseded  in  1637  by 
tha^t  of  Lynn,  or  the  King's  Lynn,  from  Lynn  Regis,  on  the 
River  Ouse,  in  England.  Lynn  is  therefore  one  of  tlie  oldest 
towns  in  Massachusetts.  It  is  beautifully  situated  on  the  shore 
of  Massachusetts  Bay,  ten  miles  north  of  Boston  and  five  south 
of  Salem.  Swampscot  is  a  rib  taken  from  her  side;  so  is 
Nahant,  and  so  is  Lynnfield ;  yet,  like  the  fabled  monster,  she 
seems  to  grow  the  faster  from  successive  mutUations. 

If  one'' may  credit  the  legend,  Veale,  the  pirate  recluse  of 
Dungeon  Rock,  was  among  the  first  to  follow  the  trade  of  a 
"cordwainer"  here;  but  it  may  be.  questioned  whether  he  is 


138  NEW-ENGLAXD   LEGENDS. 

really  looked  upon  as  one  of  the  founders  of  the  craft.  Be  that 
as  it  may,  it  is  certain  that  one  of  the  earliest  settlers,  Francis 
Ingalls  by  name,  established  the  first  tannery  in  all  the  colony, 
and  he  may  therefore  be  considered  the  originator  of  that 
branch  of  industry,  in  the  steady  pursuit  of  which  Lynn  has 
grown  to  be  both  rich  and  famous.  When  shoemaking  was  a 
trade,  I   suppose  that  nearly  every  man  in  Lynn  was  a  shoe- 


MOLL  PITCHER. 

mak-er ;  but  now,  when  no  one  person  makes  a  whole  boot  or 
a  whole  shoe,  the  trade,  as  a  trade,  has  degenerated.  Two  of  the 
noblest  men  that  America  has  produced  have  graduated  from  the 
shoemaker's  bench.  The  poet  Whittier  once  followed  this  humble 
calling,  until  he  found  his  higher  vocation ;  and  the  philanthro- 
pist, William  Lloyd  Garrison,  once  worked  at  the  bench  here  in 
Lynn.  This  ancient  handicraft  is  therefore  by  no  means  with- 
out some  very  honorable  traditions. 

But  Lynn  is  likely  to  be  celebrated  throughout  all  time  as  hav- 
ing been  the  residence  of  the  most  successful  fortune-teller  of  her 


MOLL    PITCHER.  139 

day  and  generation,  —  we  might  also  say  of  whom  we  have  any 
account  in  mystical  lore,  ancient  or  modern.  While  she  lived 
she  was.  without  a  rival  in  her  peculiar  art,  and  the  prophetic 
words  that  she  let  fall  were  capable  of  being  transmuted  into 
gold.  She  it  is  that  one  of  our  native  poets  has  in  mind  when 
he  is  singing  —  too  soon,  we  think,  —  a  requiem  over  the  last 
witch  of  his  native  land. 

How  has  New  England's  romance  fled, 
Even  as  a  vision  of  the  morning  ! 

Its  rites  foredone,  —  its  guardians  dead,  — 

Its  priestesses,  bereft  of  dread. 

Waking  the  veriest  urchin's  scorning  ! 

Gone  like  the  Indian  wizard's  yell 
And  fire-dance  round  the  magic  rock. 

Forgotten  like  the  Druid's  spell 
At  moon  rise  by  his  holy  oak ! 

No  more  along  the  shadowy  glen 

Glide  the  dim  ghosts  of  murdered  men  ;  * 

No  more  the  unquiet  churchyard  dead 

Glimpse  upward  from  their  turfy  bed, 
Startling  the  traveller,  late  and  lone  ; 

As,  on  some  night  of  starless  weather. 

They  silently  commune  together, 
Each  sitting  on  his  own  headstone  ! 

The  roofless  house,  decayed,  deserted. 

Its  living  tenants  all  departed. 

No  longer  rings  with  midnight  revel 

Of  witch,  or  ghost,  or  goblin  evil  ; 

No  pale  blue  flame  sends  out  its  flashes 

Through  creviced  roof  and  shattered  sashes  !  — 

The  witch-grass  round  the  hazel  spring 

May  sharply  to  the  night-air  sing, 

But  there  no  more  shall  withered  hags 

Kefresh  at  ease  their  broomstick  nags, 

Or  taste  those  hazel-shadowed  waters 

As  beverage  meet  for  Satan's  daughters ; 

No  more  their  mimic  tones  be  heard, — 

The  mew  of  cat,  — the  chirp  of  bird,— 


140  NEW-EXGLAND    LEGENDS. 

Shrill  blending  with  the  hoarser  laughter 
Of  the  fell  demon  following  after! 

Even  she,  our  own  weird  heroine, 
Sole  Pythoness  of  ancient  Lynn, 

Sleeps  calmly  where  the  living  laid  her  ; 
And  the  wade  realm  of  sorcery, 
Left  by  its  latest  mistress  free, 

Hath  found  no  gray  and  skilled  invader. 

It  was  once  said  of  Napoleon  that  he  left  a  family,  but  no 
successor.  Moll  Pitcher  left  none  in  her  wonderful  gift  of  fore- 
telling the  future  by  practising  palmistry,  or  by  simply  gazing 
into  the  bottom  of  a  teacup.  She  was  therefore  no  Sidrophel. 
Yet  even  the  most  incredulous  were  compelled  to  admit  her  pre- 
dictions to  be  wholly  unaccountable ;  while  those  who  came  to 
laugh  went  away  vanquished,  if  not  fully  convinced.  What  is 
singular  is  that  her  reputation  has  rather  increased  than  dimin- 
ished with  time.  We  have  no  account  of  her  dupes,  nor  is 
there  any  "  Exposure  "  extant.  It  follows  that  the  spot  where 
for  so  many  years  Moll  Pitcher  so  successfully  practised  her  art 
is  the  one  to  which  the  stranger  first  asks  to  be  directed. 

Should  he  happen  to  stray  a  little  way  out  of  the  more 
crowded  part  of  the  city,  his  attention  would  at  once  be  arrested 
by  a  remarkable  cliff  of  dull  red  porphyry  rising  high  above  the 
house-tops,  that  has  apparently  detached  itself  from  the  broken 
hill-range  which  skirts  the  coast,  and  has  elbowed  its  way  into 
the  plain,  thrusting  the  houses  aside  out  of  its  path,  until  it 
almost  divides  the  city  in  twain.  High  Rock,  as  it  is  called,  is 
to  Lynn  what  the  Citadel  is  to  Quebec,  —  you  look  down,  and  see 
at  a  glance  all  the  out-door  life  of  the  place ;  you  look  up,  and 
see  the  blue  arch  of  the  sky  springing  from  the  rim  of  the 
ocean. 

The  following  poetical  description  of  the  ravishing  view  of  sea 
and  shore  unrolled  from  the  summit  of  High  Rock  naturally 
takes  precedence  of  our  own  :  — 


MOLL    PITCHEK.  ^^^ 


HIGH    ROCK. 

ELIZABETH   F.    MEREILL. 

Overlooking  the  town  of  Lynn, 

So  far  above  that  the  city's  din 

Mingles  and  blends  with  the  heavy  roar 

Of  the  breakers  along  the  curving  shore, 

Scarred  and  furrowed  and  glacier-seamed. 

Back  in  the  ages  so  long  ago, 

The  boldest  philosopher  never  dreamed 

To  count  the  centuries'  ebb  and  flow, 

Stands  a  rock  with  its  gray  old  face 

Eastward,  ever  turned  to  the  place 

Where  first  the  rim  of  the  sun  is  seen,  — 

Whenever  the  morning  sky  is  bright,  — 

Cleaving  the  glistening,  glancing  sheen 

Of  the  sea  with  disk  of  insufferable  light. 

Down  in  the  earth  his  roots  strike  deep  ; 

Up  to  his  breast  the  houses  creep, 

Climbing  e'en  to  his  rugged  face, 

Or  nestling  lovingly  at  his  base. 

Stand  on  his  forehead,  bare  and  brown, 

Send  your  gaze  o'er  the  roofs  of  the  town 

Away  to  the  line  so  faint  and  dim. 

Where  the  sky  stoops  down  to  the  crystal  rim 

Of  the  broad  Atlantic,  whose  billows  toss. 

Wrestling  and  weltering  and  hurrying  on 

With  awful  fury  whenever  across 

His  broad  bright  surface,  with  howl  and  moan, 

The  Tempest  wheels,  with  black  wing  bowed 

To  the  yielding  waters  which  fly  to  the  cloud, 

Or  hurry  along  with  thunderous  shocks 

To  break  on  the  ragged  and  riven  rocks. 

When  the  tide  comes  in  on  a  sunny  day 
You  can  see  the  waves  beat  back  in  spray 
From  the  splintered  spurs  of  Phillips  Head, 
Or  tripping  along  with  dainty  tread, 


142  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

As  of  a  million  glancing  feet, 

Shake  out  the  light  in  a  quick  retreat, 

Or  along  the  smooth  curve  of  the  beach, 

Snowy  and  curling,  in  long  lines  reach. 

An  islet  anchored  and  held  to  land 

By  a  glistening,  foam-fringed  ribbon  of  sand  ; 

That  is  Nahant,  and  that  hoary  ledge 

To  the  left  is  Egg  Rock,  like  a  blunted  wedge, 

Cleaving  the  restless  ocean's  breast, 

And  bearing  the  lighthouse  on  its  crest. 

It  was  at  tlie  foot  of  this  cliff  that  Moll  Pitcher,  the  fortune- 
teller of  Lynn,  dwelt.  Forty  years  ago  there  were  very  few  fire- 
sides in  New  England  that  her  fame  had  not  reached,  perhaps 
disturbed ;  and  her  successful  predictions,  alike  astounding  to 
the  vulgar  or  to  the  enlightened,  were  the  theme  of  many  a  mid- 
night watch  or  forecastle  confab.  She  was  not,  if  we  may  credit 
local  report,  the  withered,  decrepit,  and  tootliless  crone  of 
Spenser,  or  Otway's 

"  wrinkled  hag,  with  age  grown  double, 
Picking  dry  sticks  and  numibling  to  herself," 

but  a  Avoman  w^ho  lived  in  the  full  gaze  and  gossip  of  a  world 
which  only  accepted  her  claim  to  foreknowledge  upon  the  une- 
quivocal testimony  of  a  thousand  witnesses.  Do  you  contend 
that  her  reputation  was  due  solely  to  the  shrewdness,  penetra- 
tion, and  ready  wit  with  which  she  was  undoubtedly  in  a 
remarkable  degree  gifted  1  How,  then,  will  you  explain  revela- 
tions of  the  future  made  ten  and  twenty  years  before  the  events- 
predicted  took  place  1 

When  she  was  in  the  meridian  of  her  fam(;  and  life  the  ordi- 
nary applicant  saw  a  woman  of  medium  stature,  having  an 
unusually  large  head,  a  pale,  thin,  and  rather  intellectual  face, 
shaded  by  masses  of  dark  brown  hair,  wdio  was  as  thoroughly 
self-possessed  as  he  was  ill  at  ease,  and  whose  comprehensive 
glance  measured  his  mental  capacity  before  ho  could  utter  a 
syllable.     People  of  better  discernment,  who  recollect  her,  say 


MOLL    riTCIIER.  143 

that  her  face  had  none  of  the  wildness  of  the  traditional  witch, 
but  was  clouded  with  a  habitual  sadness,  as  of  a  mind  over- 
burdened with  being  the  depository  of  so  many  confidences, 
perhaps  crimes.  She  had  a  full,  capacious  forehead,  arched  eye- 
brows, eyes  that  read  the  secret  thoughts  of  a  suitor,  a  nose 
"inclined  to  be  long,"  and  thin  lips  —  a  physiognomy  Avholly 
unlike  the  popular  ideal,  but  rather  that  of  a  modern  Egeria,  — 
in  short,  the  witch  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

During  the  fifty  years  that  she  pursued  her  trade  of  fortune- 
telling,  in  what  was  then  a  lonely  and  little  frequented  quarter 


MOLL   PITtllEK  S    COTTAGE. 

of  the  town,  not  only  was  she  consulted  by  the  poor  and  igno- 
rant, but  also  by  the  rich  and  intelligent  class.  Love  affairs, 
legacies,  the  discovery  of  crime,  lotteries,  commercial  ventures, 
and  the  more  common  contingencies  of  fortune,  formed,  we  may 
well  imagine,  the  staple  of  her  predictions ;  but  her  most  valued 
clients  came  from  the  opulent  seaports  that  are  within  sight  of 
High  Rock.  The  common  sailor  and  the  master,  the  cabin-boy 
and  the  owner,  equally  resorted  to  her  humble  abode  to  know 
the  luck  of  a  voyage.  It  is  asserted  that  many  a  vessel  has 
been  deserted  when  on  the  eve  of  sailing,  in  consequence  of 


144  new-england  legends. 

Moll's  unlucky  vaticiimtion.  She  was  also  much  besought  by 
treasure-seekers  —  a  rath3r  numerous  class  in  her  day,  whose 
united  digging  along  the  coast  of  New  England  would,  if  use- 
fully directed,  have  reclaimed  for  cultivation  no  inconsiderable 
area  of  virgin  soil.  For  such  applicants  the  witch  had  a  short 
and  sharp  reply.  "Fools!"  she  would  say;  "if  I  knew  where 
money  was  buried,  do  you  think  I  would  part  with  the 
secret  1 " 

Moll  Pitcher  died  in  1813,  at  the  age  of  seventy-five.  She 
was  originally  of  Marblehead,  and  is  said  to  have  inherited  the 
gift  of  prophecy  from  her  grandfather,  John  Dimond,  who  was 
himself  a  wizard  of  no  mean  reputation  in  that  place.  In  proof 
of  this  it  is  said  that  he  was  in  the  habit  of  going  to  the  old  bury- 
ing-ground  on  the  hill  whenever  a  violent  gale  at  sea  arose,  and 
in  that  lonely  place,  in  the  midst  of  the  darkness  and  the  storm, 
to  astound  and  terrify  the  simple  fisherfolk  in  the  following 
manner.  He  would  direct  vessels  then  at  sea  how  to  weather 
the  roughest  gale,  —  pacing  up  and  down  among  the  grave- 
stones, and  ever  and  anon,  in  a  voice  distinctly  heard  above  the 
howling  of  the  tempest,  shout  his  orders  to  the  helmsman  or 
the  crew,  as  if  he  were  actually  on  the  quarter-deck,  and  the 
scene  all  before  him.  Very  few  doubted  his  ability  to  bring  a 
vessel  safely  into  port.  Mary  Dimond's  father  sailed  out  of  ]\Iar- 
blehead  as  master  of  a  small  vessel.  She  married  Eobert  Pitcher, 
a  shoemaker,  in  1760.  Mr.  Lewis,  the  historian  of  Lynn,  avIio 
remembered  her,  asserts  that  she  was  connected  with  some  of  the 
best  families  in  Essex ;  that,  except  her  fortune-telling  pretension, 
there  was  nothing  disreputable  in  her  life  ;  and  that  her  descend- 
ants were  living  and  respected  when  he  wrote.  Her  life  seems 
rather  to  mark  the  line  which  divides  old  and  new  superstition, 
than  any  decay  of  that  inextinguishable  craving  to  pry  into  futu- 
rity which  has  distinguished  the  human  race  in  all  ages  and  in 
all  climes. 

This  describes  the  celebrated  fortune-teller  as  she  was  known 
to  her  contemporaries.  We  have,  however,  picked  up  among 
the  flotsam  of  literary  drift  a  different  portrait,  drawn  in  verse. 


i 


MOLL    PITCHER.  145 

In  1832  Whittier  published,  anonymously,  a  poem  of  wliich 
Moll  Pitcher  is  the  heroine.  The  statement  made  by  the  author 
in  an  introductory  note  concerning  himself  will  doubtless  be 
considered  to-day  as  being  even  a  greater  curiosity  than  the  poem 
itself  is.  There  he  naively  says  :  "  I  have  not  enough  of  the  poeti- 
cal mania  in  my  disposition  to  dream  of  converting,  by  an  alchemy 
more  potent  than  that  of  the  old  philosophers,  a  limping  couplet 
into  a  brace  of  doubloons,  or  a  rickety  stanza  into  a  note  of  hand. 
Moll  Pitcher  {'  there's  music  in  the  name  ')  is  the  offspring  of  a 
few  weeks  of  such  leisure  as  is  afforded  by  indisposition,  and  is 
given  to  the  world  in  all  its  original  negligence,  —  the  thoughts 
fresh  as  when  first  originated." 

The  poem  is  the  story  of  a  maiden,  fond  and  fair,  whose  sailor 
lover  had  gone  on  a  long  voyage  to  sea,  where 

He  sought  for  gold  —  for  yellow  gold,  — 

in  order  that  he  might  come  back  a  rich  man  and  wed  the  girl 
he  had  left  behind  him.  The  maiden's  mind  becomes  filled  with 
gloomy  forebodings  concerning  him.  Obeying  an  uncontrollable 
impulse,  in  an  evil  hour  she  seeks  the  well-trodden  path  lead- 
ing to  Moll  Pitcher's  abode,  in  order  to  know  her  destiny ;  and 
while  on  her  way  thither  she  encounters  the  witch,  who  is  thus 
•described  :  — 

She  stood  upon  a  bare  tall  crag 

Which  overlooked  her  rugged  cot  — 
A  wasted,  gray,  and  meagre  hag. 

In  features  evil  as  her  lot. 
She  had  the  crooked  nose  of  a  witch. 

And  a  crooked  back  and  chin; 
And  in  her  gait  she  had  a  hitch. 
And  in  her  hand  she  carried  a  switch, 

To  aid  her  work  of  sin,  — 
A  twig  of  wizard  hazel,  which 
Had  grown  beside  a  haunted  ditch, 
Where  a  mother  her  nameless  babe  had  thrown 
To  the  running  water  and  merciless  stone. 
10 


146  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

The  fortune-teller  cherishes  a  secret  enmity  towards  her  trem- 
bling visitor,  and  wickedly  determines  on  revenging  herself. 
She  leading  the  way,  — 

The  twain  passed  in  —  a  low  dark  room, 

With  here  and  there  a  crazy  chair, 
A  broken  glass  —  a  dusty  loom  — 
A  spinning-wheel —  a  birchen  broom, 

The  witch's  courier  of  the  air, 
As  potent  as  that  steed  of  wings 

On  which  the  Meccan  prophet  rode 
Above  the  wreck  of  meaner  things 

Unto  the  Houris'  bright  abode. 
A  low  dull  fire  by  flashes  shone 
Across  the  gray  and  cold  hearthstone, 
Flinging  at  times  a  trembling  glare 
On  the  low  roof  and  timbers  bare. 

After  this  glimpse  of  her  home,  the  weird  woman  proceeds  to 
try  her  art  by  looking  steadfastly  into  the  sorceress's  cup,  which, 
we  are  told,  constituted  her  whole  fortune-telling  paraphernalia. 
Presently  she  speaks. 

Out  spoke  the  witch,  —  "I  know  full  well 

Why  thou  hast  sought  my  humble  cot ! 
Come,  sit  thee  down,  —  the  tale  I  tell 

May  not  be  soon  forgot." 
She  threw  her  pale  blue  cloak  aside, 

And  stirred  the  whitening  embers  up, 
And  long  and  curiously  she  eyed 

The  figures  of  her  mystic  cup  ; 
And  low  she  muttered  while  the  light 
Gave  to  her  lips  a  ghastlier  white. 
And  her  sunk  eyes'  unearthly  glaring 
Seemed  like  the  taper's  latest  flaring: 
"Dark  liair — eyes  black  —  a  goodly  form  — 

A  maiden  weeping  —  wild  dark  sea  — 
A  tall  ship  tossing  in  the  storm  — 

A  black  wreck  floating  —  where  is  he  ? 


MOLL    PITCHER.  147 

Give  me  thy  hand — how  soft,  and  warm, 

And  fair  its  tapering  fingers  seem  !  — 
And  who  that  sees  it  now  would  dream 
That  winter's  snow  would  seem  less  chill 
Ere  long  than  these  soft  fingers  will  ? 
A  lovely  palm  !  —  how  delicate 

Its  veined  and  wandering  lines  are  drawn  ! 
Yet  each  are  prophets  of  thy  fate  — 

Ha  I  —  this  is  sure  a  fearful  one  I 
That  sudden  cross  —  that  blank  beneath  — 

What  may  these  evil  signs  betoken  1 
Passion  and  sorrow,  fear  and  death  — 

A  human  spirit  crushed  and  broken ! 
Oh,  thine  hath  been  a  pleasant  dream, 
But  darker  shall  its  waking  seem ! " 

Like  a  cold  hand  upon  her  heart 

The  dark  words  of  the  sorceress  lay, 
Something  to  scare  her  spirit's  rest 

Forever  more  away. 
Each  word  had  seemed  so  strangely  true, 
Calling  her  inmost  thoughts  in  view, 
And  pointing  to  the  form  which  came 

Before  her  in  her  dreary  sleep, 
Whose  answered  love  —  whose  very  name, 
Though  nought  of  breathing  life  was  near, 

She  scarce  had  given  the  winds  to  keep, 
Or  murmured  in  a  sister's  ear. 


Overcome  by  the  terrible  revelation,  to  which  lier  own  fears 
lend  a  too  ready  belief,  the  poor  girl  becomes  a  maniac.  She  is 
always  watching  for  the  sail  in  the  offing  which  never  comes  ; 
she  wanders  up  and  down  the  rocky  shores  of  Nahant,  gazing 
vacantly  out  to  sea,  until  on  one  lucky  day,  in  spite  of  Moll's 
fatal  prediction,  the  lover's  ship  sails  gallantly  into  the  bay,  and 
with  it  the  one  thing  capable  of  restoring  the  maiden's  reason 
again.  The  witch,  however,  does  not  escape  the  consequences  of 
her  malevolence,   but   dies  miserably  in   her   wretched   hovel. 


148  NEW-EXGL.VND   LEGENDS. 

being  tended  in  her  last  moments  by  a  little  child  of  the  woman 
she  has  so  cruelly  wronged. 

The  poem  being  too  long   for  us  to   reproduce  in  full,  we 
have  thus  merely  outliued  it  fi>r  the  reader. 


NAHANT     LEGENDS. 


ABOUT  three  miles  from  where  we  stand,  rising  abruptly 
from  the  sea,  is  a  castellated  gray  rock  crowned  with  a 
lighthouse.  Egg  Rock,  as  it  is  called,  is  not  more  than  eighty 
feet  from  sea  to  summit,  but  its  isolated  and  lonely  position,  its 
bold  outlines  cut  clean  and  sharp  on  the  blue  background,  make 
it  seem  higher.  This  rocky  islet,  the  former  eyrie  of  wild  sea- 
birds,  is  by  far  the  most  picturesque  object  of  this  picturesque 
shore.  It  is  almost  always  seen  encircled  with  a  belt  of  white 
sui'f,  whOe  in  violent  storms  the  raging  seas  assail  it  with  such 
tremendous  impetuosity  as  to  give  the  idea  of  a  fortress  belea- 
guered by  the  combined  powers  of  sea  and  air.  At  such  times  it 
cannot  be  approached  with  safety.  Then  the  lighthouse  keeper, 
whatever  his  wants  may  be,  can  hold  no  communication  with 
the  shore,  but  is  a  prisoner  during  the  pleasure  of  the  gale. 

The  occasional  and  distant  glimpses  of  Nahant  had  from  the 
main  shore  are  certain  to  excite  the  desire  for  a  nearer  survey,  a 
more  intimate  acquaintance.  "We  wiU,  therefore,  let  this  choice 
bit  of  description,  which  Mr.  Longfellow  particularly  admired, 
serve  as  our  introduction.  "  If,"  says  X.  P.  WiUis,  "  you  can 
imagine  a  buried  Titan  lying  along  the  length  of  a  continent, 
with  one  arm  stretched  out  into  the  midst  of  the  sea,  the  si)ot 
to  which  I  would  transport  you,  reader  mine,  would  be,  as  it 
were,  in  the  palm  of  the  giant's  hand." 

One  of  "NVhittier's  earliest  poetic  productions  is  also  addressed 
to  this  charming  spot  : 


NAHANT   LEGENDS.  149 

Nahant,  thy  beach  is  beautiful !  — 

A  dim  line  through  the  tossing  waves, 
Along  whose  verge  the  spectre  gull 

Her  thin  and  snowy  plumage  laves  — 
What  time  the  Summer's  greemiess  lingers 

Within  thy  sunned  and  sheltered  nooks, 
And  the  green  vine  with  twining  fingers 

Creeps  up  and  down  thy  hanging  rocks  ! 
Around  —  the  blue  and  level  main  — 

Above  —  a  sunshine  rich,  as  fell, 
Bright'ning  of  old,  with  golden  rain, 

The  isle  Apollo  loved  so  well !  — 
And  far  off,  dim  and  beautiful 
The  snow-white  sail  and  graceful  hull, 

Slow,  dipping  to  the  billow's  swell. 
Bright  spot !  —  the  isles  of  Greece  may  share 
A  flowery  earth  —  a  gentle  air  ; — 
The  orange-bough  may  blossom  well 
In  warm  Bermuda's  sunniest  dell ;  — 
But  fairer  shores  and  brighter  waters, 
Gazed  on  by  purer,  lovelier  daughters. 

Beneath  the  light  of  kindHer  skies, 
The  wanderer  to  the  farthest  bound 
Of  peopled  Earth  hath  never  found 

Than  thine  —  New  England's  Paradise  ! 

Mrs.    Sigourney   follows    in   the    same   strain    of    unstinted 
praise  :  — 

NAHANT. 

EuDE  rock-bound  coast,  where  erst  the  Indian  roamed, 
The  iron  shoulders  of  thy  furrowed  cliffs. 
Made  black  with  smiting,  "still  in  stubborn  force 
Resist  the  scourging  wave. 

Bright  summer  suns 
In  all  the  fervor  of  their  noontide  heat 
Obtain  no  power  to  harm  thee,  for  thou  wrapp'st 
Thy  watery  mantle  round  thee,  ever  fresh 
With  ocean's  coolness,  and  defy'st  their  rage. 


150  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

The  storm-cloud  is  thy  gloiy. 

Then,  thou  deck'st 
Thyself  with  majesty,  and  to  its  frown 
And  voice  of  thunder,  answerest  boldly  back. 
And  from  thy  watch-towers  hurl'st  the  blinding  spray, 
While  every  dark  and  hollow  cavern  sounds 
Its  trumpet  for  the  battle. 

Yet 't  is  sweet 
Amid  thy  fissured  rocks  to  ruminate, 
Marking  thy  grottos  with  mosaic  paved 
Of  o-littering  pebbles,  and  that  balm  to  breathe 
Which  gives  the  elastic  nerves  a  freer  play, 
And  tints  the  languid  cheek  with  hues  of  health. 

The  sand-beach  and  the  sea ! 

Who  can  divine 
Their  mystic  intercourse,  that  day  and  night 
Surceaseth  not  ?     On  comes  the  thundering  sm-ge, 
Lifting  its  mountain-head,  with  menace  stern, 
'To  whelm  the  unresisting ;  but  impelled 
In  all  the  plenitude  of  kingly  power 
To  change  its  purpose  of  authority. 
Breaking  its  wand  of  might,  doth  hurry  back  ; 
And  then,  repenting,  with  new  wrath  return. 
Yet  still  that  smgle,  silvery  line  abides. 
Lowly,  and  fearless,  and  immutable. 
God  gives  it  strength. 

So  may  he  deign  to  grant 
The  sand-line  of  our  virtues  power  to  cope 
With  all  temptation.     When  some  secret  snare 
Doth  weave  its  meshes  round  our  trembling  souls, 
That  in  their  frailty  turn  to  him  alone. 
So  may  he  give  us  strength. 

There  is  a  good  road  over  the  Long  Beach  ;  but  when  the  tide 
is  nearly  down,  a  broad  esplanade  of  sand  beckons  us  aside  from 
the  embankment  over  which  that  is  now  built.  Here  is  a  course 
such  as  no  TJoman  charioteer  ever  drove  upon.  Here  the  heavy 
farm-carts  that  are  gathering  seaweed  leave  scarcely  a  print  of 
their  broad-tired  wheels.     Stamp  upon  it  witli  the  foot,  and  see 


NAHANT   LEGENDS.  151 

how  hard  and  firm  it  is ;  or  smile  at  the  lightning  it  emits  under 
the  impact,  —  your  childhood's  wonder.  We  pass  over  half  an 
acre  of  sand,  moulded  in  the  impress  of  little  wavelets  that  have 
left  their  print  like  cunning  chiselling  or  like  masses  of  sandy 
hair  in  crimp.  There  behind  a  clump  of  rocks  crouches  a  sports- 
man, who  is  patiently  waiting  for  twilight  to  come,  when  the 
black  ducks  and  coots  fly  over ;  those  stooping  figures  among 
the  rocks  are  not  treasure-seekers,  but  clam-diggers. 

Having  crossed  the  Long  Beach,  we  betake  ourselves  again  to 
the  road  which  winds  around  the  shore  of  Little  Nahant  to  a 
second  beach,  half  a  mile  long.  We  again  leave  this  behind,  to 
climb  the  rocky  ascent  of  the  greater  promontory,  then  finding 
ourselves  in  the  long  street  of  the  village.  Nahant  is  tempting 
to  artist  or  antiquary,  but  especially  so  to  the  man  of  refined 
literary  tastes,  who  knows  no  greater  enjoyment  than  to  visit 
the  spots  consecrated  by  genius.  In  Jonathan  Johnson's  house 
Longfellow  partly  wrote  "  Hiawatha  ; "  and  here,  at  Nahant,  was 
also  the  birthplace  of  the  "  Bells  of  Lynn,"  which  the  poet  heard, 

Borne  on  the  evening  wind  across  the  crimson  twilight. 

And  we  too  hear  their  musical  vibrations,  softened  by  the  dis- 
tance, lingering  lovingly  in  the  air,  and  we  can  see  as  in  our  own 
memories  the  pictures  to  which  his  matchless  verse  gives  life  : 

The  fisherman  in  his  boat,  far  out  beyond  the  headland, 
Listens,  and  leisurely  rows  ashore,  0  Bells  of  Lynn  ! 
Over  the  shining  sands  the  wandering  cattle  homeward 
Follow  each  other  at  your  call,  O  Bells  of  Lynn ! 
The  distant  lighthouse  hears,  and  with  his  flaming  signal 
Answers  you,  passing  the  watchword  on,  0  Bells  of  Lynn  ! 
And  down  the  darkening  coast  run  the  tunndtuous  surges, 
And  clap  their  hands,  and  shout  to  you,  O  Bells  of  Lynn  ! 
Till  from  the  shuddering  sea,  with  your  wild  incantations, 
Ye  summon  up  the  spectral  moon,  0  Bells  of  Lynn  ! 

And  startled  at  the  sight,  like  the  weird  woman  of  Endor, 
Ye  cry  aloud,  and  then  are  still,  0  Bells  of  Lynn! 


152  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

The  "  Ladder  of  St.  Augustine "  and  other  of  his  lyrics  in 
which  the  actual  presence  of  the  sea  is  felt  by  the  reader  were 
also  written  here  under  its  influence,  for  Longfellow  is  always 
moved  by  it  to  a  pitch  of  high-wrought  emotion  —  to  a  kind  of 
speechless  speech  —  which  only  the  impressible  nature  knows. 
In  the  "  Dedication  "  to  his  Seaside  verses  he  gives  us  the  key 
to  this  exquisite  spiritual  sensibility,  — 

Therefore  I  hope  to  join  j'our  seaside  walk, 
Saddened,  and  mostly  silent,  with  emotion  ; 

Not  interrupting  with  intrusive  talk 

The  grand,  majestic  symphonies  of  ocean. 

And  in  the  opening  stanza  of  "  The  Secret  of  the  Sea  "  he  frankly 
confesses  to  the  fascination  with  which  it  possesses  him  :  — 

Ah  !  what  pleasant  visions  haunt  me 

As  I  gaze  upon  the  sea  ! 
All  the  old  romantic  legends, 

All  my  dreams,  come  back  to  me. 

Somewhat  farther  on  we  descend  into  an  enticing  nook,  shaded 
by  two  aged  and  gigantic  willows.  Here,  in  the  modest  cottage 
of  Mrs.  Hannah  Hood,  surrounded  by  old  Dutch  folios.  Motley 
began  his  "  Dutch  Eepublic."  By  ascending  the  rise  of  ground 
beyond  the  Hollow  we  may  see  the  roof  of  the  cottage  where 
Prescott,  who  died,  like  Petrarch,  in  his  chair,  worked  at  "  Ferdi- 
nand and  Isabella,"  the  "Conquest  of  Mexico,"  and  "  Philip  II." 
On  the  point  beyond  us,  assisted  by  his  gifted  wife,  Agassiz 
produced  "  Brazil."  Willis,  Curtis,  Mrs.  Sigourney,  and  an 
admiring  host  of  lesser  celebrities  who  have  felt  its  magnetic 
influence,  celebrate  l!^ahant  in  prose  or  verse.  The  residence 
of  such  eminent  representatives  of  American  literature  could 
hardly  fail  to  impress  itself  upon  the  social  character  of  a  place  ; 
but  it  has  also  made  this  little  peninsula  one  of  the  best  remem- 
bered spots  of  American  ground  to  scholars  of  the  Old  World 
who  have  visited  it.     And  the  privilege  of  traversing  her  rocky 


NAHANT   LEGENDS.  153 

shores,  with  Longfellow  or  Agassiz  for  a  guide,  was  indeed  some- 
thing to  be  remembered. 

The  Hollow  seems  the  proper  standpoint  for  a  brief  glance 
at  the  history  of  ISTahant,  down  to  the  time  when  it  became 
the  retreat  of  culture,  refinement,  and  wealth.  I^ahant  (the 
twins)  is  a  musical  Indian  name  that  trips  lightly  from  the 
tongue.  On  the  map  it  looks  like  the  wyvern  of  heraldry,  hang- 
ing to  the  coast  by  its  tail.  It  was  sold  by  Poquanum,  a  saga- 
more, in  1630,  to  the  Lynn  settlers,  who  used  it  in  common  as  a 
pasture.  Being  to  all  intents  an  island,  or  rather  two  islands,  at 
high  tide,  it  was  named  the  Fullerton  Isles,  in  1614,  by  Captain 
Smith.  It  had  been  granted  in  1622  to  Captain  Eobert  Gorges  ; 
but  his  title  seems  to  have  lapsed,  and  not  to  have  been  suc- 
cessfully revived.  Under  the  rule  of  Andros,  his  favorite,  Ran- 
dolph, tried  to  steal  it.  The  price  originally  paid  for  Nahant 
was  a  suit  of  clothes ;  it  has  now  a  tax-roll  of  six  and  a  half 
millions.  In  the  earlier  accounts  given  of  them,  the  two  pen- 
insulas appear  to  have  been  well  wooded ;  but,  in  common  with 
all  the  coast  islands,  the  natural  forest  long  ago  disappeared,  and 
Nahant  remained  almost  treeless,  until  Thomas  H.  Perkins,  a 
wealthy  Boston  merchant,  planted  several  thousand  shade-trees. 
His  efforts  to  make  Nahant  a  desirable  summer  residence  were 
effectively  seconded  by  Frederick  Tudor,  the  ice-king,  by  Cor- 
nelius Coolidge,  and  other  men  of  wealth  and  taste.  Its  name 
and  fame  began  to  resound  abroad.  A  hotel  was  built  in  1819, 
and  a  steamboat  began  to  ply  in  the  summer  months  between 
Boston  and  the  peninsulas.  In  1853  Nahant  threw  off  her 
allegiance  to  Lynn,  and  became  a  separate  town.  Her  earlier 
frequenters  were,  with  few  exceptions,  wealthy  Boston  or  Salem 
families,  and  they  continue  to  possess  her  choicest  territories. 

Since  the  great  hotel  was  destroyed  by  fire  in  1861,  there  is 
only  the  modest  hostelry  of  Mr.  Whitney  for  the  reception  of 
casual  guests.  This  was  one  of  five  houses  the  peninsula  con- 
tained seventy  odd  years  ago,  and  was  the  former  homestead  of 
the  Breed  family,  who,  with  the  Hood  and  Johnson  families, 
were  sole  lords  of  the  isles.     Though  there  has  been  an  "  inva- 


154  ^'E^V-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

sion,"  there  never  has  been  a  "conquest."  The  Xahantese  who 
are  "  native  here,  and  to  the  manner  born,"  cling  to  what  is  left 
of  their  ancient  patrimony  with  unyielding  grasp.  "Wander 
Avhere  they  may,  they  always  come  back  here  to  die.  One  of 
them,  who  had  refused  tempting  offers  for  his  land,  said  to  me, 
"Here  I  was  born,  here  is  my  home,  and  here  I  mean  to  abide." 
The  admirably  kept  roads  lead  where  the  most  engaging 
sea-views  are  to  be  had.  You  lean  over  a  railing  and  look  down 
eighty  feet  to  the  bottom  of  a  cove,  where  the  sea  ripples  with- 
out breaking,  and  the  clean,  smooth  pebbles  chase  back  the 
refluent  wave  with  noisy  chatter.  The  tawny  rocks  wear  coats 
of  grass-green  velvet ;  the  perfume  of  sweet- fern  and  of  eglantine 
is  in  the  air.  The  cliffs  of  the  eastern  headland  are  very  fine. 
It  takes  one's  breath  away  to  witness  the  rush  and  roar  of  the 
eternal  surges  among  their  iron  ribs ;  yet  the  effect  seems  little 
more  than  would  be  produced  by  a  hungry  lion  licking  the  bars 
of  his  cage.  In  a  few  instances,  such  as  Castle  Eock  and  the 
Devil's  Pulpit  notably  present,  the  rocks  arise  in  regular  castel- 
lated masses ;  but  in  general  they  are  as  much  the  expression  of 
chaos  of  form  as  we  might  expect  to  see  in  the  broken  arches 
and  colonnades  of  the  earth's  foundations.  Being  pitched  about 
in  fantastic  yet  awful  confusion,  they  present  curious  accidental 
formations,  or  are  split  from  summit  to  foundation-stone  in 
chasms  deep  and  gloomy,  where  the  seething  waters  hiss  and 
boil,  much  as  they  might  have  done  when  these  colossal  masses 
were  first  cooling.  Here  and  there  on  the  shores  the  sea  has 
neatlj'^  hollowed  out  the  natural  curiosities  locally  known  as  the 
K"atural  Bridge,  Swallows'  Cave,  Irene's  Grotto,  and  the  Spouting 
Horn  ;  and  in  storms  the  shore  is  as  full  of  noises  as  Prospero's 
Island  — 

A  voice  out  of  the  silence  of  the  deep, 

A  sound  mysteriously  multiplied. 
As  of  a  cataract  from  the  mountain's  side, 

Or  roar  of  winds  upon  the  wooded  steep. 

The  sea-view  from  the  portico  of  the  chapel,  which  is  situated 
on  the  highest  point  of  the  headland,  is  certainly  one  of  the 


NAHANT   LEGENDS.  155 

rarest  on  the  whole  coast,  embracing,  as  it  does,  many  miles  of 
the  mainland,  from  Lynn  as  far  as  the  extreme  point  of  Cape 
Ann  ;  of  the  South  Shore  from  Scituate  to  Boston  Light,  —  a 
slender,  shapely,  and  minaret-like  tower  set  on  a  half-submerged 
ledge  at  the  entrance  to  Boston  Harbor.  On  a  clear  day  the 
dusky  gray  pillar  of  Minot's  Light,  and  by  night  its  ruddy  flash, 
on  the  south  coast,  are  visible.  One  of  these  towers  —  probably 
the  first  —  inspired  Longfellow's  poem,  "  The  Lighthouse," 
beginning  — 

The  rocky  ledge  runs  far  into  the  sea. 
And  on  its  outer  point,  some  miles  away, 

The  Lighthouse  lifts  its  massive  masonry,  — 
A  pillar  of  fire  by  night,  of  cloud  by  day. 

And  ending  — 

"  Sail  on  !  "  it  says,  "  sail  on,  ye  stately  ships  ! 

And  with  your  floating  bridge  the  ocean  span  : 
Be  mine  to  guard  this  light  from  all  eclipse, 

Be  yours  to  bring  man  nearer  unto  man  !  " 

Longfellow's  summer  residence  was  upon  the  southern  shore, 
which  is  less  precipitous,  but  more  sheltered  from  the  bleak 
winds,  than  the  northern  shores  are.  "  It  is  a  house  of  ample  size, 
with  wide  verandas,  and  is  surrounded  with  such  shrubbery  as 
the  unsparing  winds  that  sweep  the  peninsula  allow."  When, 
after  the  appearance  of  "  ISTooks  and  Corners  of  the  New  Eng- 
land Coast,"  the  writer  called  upon  him,  the  poet  said,  "  Ah  !  but 
why  did  you  leave  Nahant  out  in  the  cold  1 "  And  he  urged 
him  to  repair  the  omission  without  delay. 

Prescott  also  lived  on  the  southern  shore,  on  a  rocky  point  not 
far  from  the  Swallows'  Cave,  named  by  him  "  Fitful  Head." 
Agassiz'  cottage,  on  the  contrary,  is  on  the  north  shore.  It  is  a 
modest,  though  not  unpicturesque  building,  all  upon  the  ground, 
and  was  probably  better  suited  to  the  great  scientist's  simple 
tastes  than  were  the  handsome  villas  of  his  eminent  literary  neigh- 
bors. Possibly  it  may  have  reminded  him  in  some  silent  way 
of  his  fatlierland,  —  "  the  beautiful  Pays  du  Yaud."     It  is  to 


156  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Agassiz  dead  that  this  touching  apostrophe  is  addressed  hy  hi 
friend  Longfellow,  who  is  so  rarely  a  questioner  of  fate,  — 

I  stand  again  on  the  familiar  shore, 

And  hear  the  waves  of  the  distracted  sea 
Piteously  calling  and  lamenting  thee, 
And  waiting  restless  at  thy  cottage  door. 

The  rocks,  the  sea-weed  on  the  ocean  floor, 
The  willows  in  the  meadow,  and  the  free 
Wild  winds  of  the  Atlantic  welcome  me  ; 
Then  why  shouldst  thou  be  dead,  and  come  no  more  ? 

Ah,  Avby  shouldst  thou  be  dead  when  common  men 
Are  busy  with  their  trivial  affairs, 
Ha\'ing  and  holding  ?     Why,  when  thou  hadst  read 

Nature's  mysterious  manuscript,  and  then 
Wast  ready  to  reveal  the  truth  it  bears, 
Why  art  thou  silent  ?    Why  shouldst  thou  be  dead  ? 


THE   SEA-SERPENT. 

Mayhap  you  all  have  heard  to  tell 

Of  the  wonderful  sea-snake.  —Old  Ballad. 

THERE  is  one  topic  with  which  the  annals  of  Xahant  are 
inseparably  associated  that  we  feel  a  natural  diffidence  in 
approaching,  yet  cannot  in  conscience  ignore,  and  that  is  the 
sea-serpent.  Words  are  inadequate  to  describe  the  wide-spread 
consternation  winch  the  apparition  of  such  a  monster  created 
among  the  hardy  population  of  our  Xew  England  seaboard ;  for 
he  was  soon  perceived  to  possess  none  of  the  attributes  of  a 
sportive  and  harmless  fish,  but  to  belong  strictly  to  the  reptile 
tribe  !  And  what  a  reptile  !  The  most  exaggerated  reports  of 
his  length  prevailed  throughout  all  the  fishing  towns  of  Cape 
Ann,  and  up  and  down  the  length  of  the  coast.  One  skipper 
swore  that  he  was  as  long  as  the  mainmast  of  a  seventy-four ; 
another  would  eat  him  if  the  steeple  of  Gloucester  meetingdiouse 


THE    SEA-SERPENT. 


157 


could  hold  a  candle  to  him  for  length  ;  still  another  declared 
upon  his  solemn  "  affidavy  "  that,  having  sighted  the  shaggy  head 
of  the  snake  early  in  the  morning,  with  a  stiff  six-knot  hreeze, 
and  everything  full,  he  had  heen  half  a  glass  in  overhauhug 
his  snakeship's  tail,  as  he  lay  motionless  along  the  water. 

For  a  time  nothing  else  was  talked  of  but  the  wonderful  sea- 
snake,  which  was  repeatedly  seen  in  Gloucester  Bay  in  August, 
1817,  and  occasionally  also  in  the  waters  of  Nahant  Bay,  by 
hundreds  of  curious  spectators,  who  ran  to  the  beaches  or 
pushed  off  in  boats  at  the  first  news  of  his  approach.     There 


EGG   EOCK  AND   THE   SEA-SEEPENT. 

was  not  a  fishwife  along  thirty  miles  of  coast  who  did  not 
shake  in  her  shoes  when  he  was  reported  in  the  ofiing.  It  is 
needless  to  say  that  his  snakeship  was  not  molested  by  any 
alert  customs'  ofiBcer,  but  "entered"  and  ''cleared"  at  each 
port  at  his  own  good  will  and  pleasure.  But  as  time  wore  on, 
and  the  serpent's  pacific,  even  pusHlanimous,  disposition  became 
evident,  courage  revived  ;  and  though  the  fish  was  a  strange  one, 
the  fishermen  determined,  with  characteristic  boldness,  on  his 
capture. 

Stimulated,  also,  by  the  large  reward  offered  for  the  serpent, 
alive  or  dead,  vessels  were  fitted  out,  manned  by  expert  whales- 


158  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

men,  wliicli  cruised  in  the  bay.  The  revenue  vessel  then  on  the 
station  was  ordered  to  keep  a  vigilant  look-out,  and  she  kept  her 
guns  double-shotted  for  action.  Nets  Avere  also  spread  in  his 
snakeship's  accustomed  haunts,  and  one  adventurous  fellow,  who 
had  approached  so  near  as  to  see  the  white  of  his  glittering  eye, 
emptied  the  contents  of  a  ducking  gun  into  the  monster's  head. 
But  he  seemed  to  bear  a  charmed  life  ;  and  having  easily  eluded 
his  pursuers,  derisively  shook  the  spray  of  Nahant  Bay  from 
his  tail  ere  he  disappeared  in  the  depths  of  the  ocean.  Since 
this  time  the  gigantic  ophidian  has  from  time  to  time  revisited 
Xahant,  and  strange  tidings  have  lately  come  of  him  from  other 
climes.  But  it  is  clear  that  his  stuffed  skin  was  never  destined 
to  adorn  the  walls  of  a  museum,  and  it  is  doubtful  if  he  will 
ever  know  other  pickle  than  his  native  brine. 

The  tradition  associating  the  sea-serpent  with  Nahant  is  of 
very  early  date.  John  Josselyn,  Gent.,  who  was  here  in  1638, 
is  the  first  to  mention  this  monster.  He  says  that  one  was 
seen  "  quoiled  np  on  a  rock  at  Cape  Ann  "  by  a  passing  boat, 
and  that  when  an  Englishman  would  have  fired  at  him,  an 
Indian  hastily  prevented  his  doing  so,  saying  that  it  would 
bring  them  ill  luck. 

It  is  our  privilege  to  rescue  this  poetic  waif  dedicated  by  the 
poet  Brainard  to  the  wandering  monster  of  the  deep  :  — 


SONNET  TO   THE   SEA-SEEPENT. 

J,    G.    BRAINARD. 

Hugest  that  swims  the  ocean  stream. 

Welter  upon  the  waters,  mighty  one, 
And  stretch  thee  in  the  ocean's  trough  of  brine 
Turn  thy  wet  scales  up  to  the  wind  and  sun. 
And  toss  the  billow  from  thy  flashing  fin  ; 
Heave  thy  deep  breathings  to  the  ocean's  din, 
And  bound  upon  its  ridges  in  thy  pride  ; 
Or  dive  down  to  its  lowest  depths,  and  in 


THE   FLOURE    OF   SOUVENANCE. 


159 


The  caverns  where  its  unknown  monsters  hide, 

Measure  thy  length  beneath  the  Gulf  Stream  tide  - 

Or  rest  thee  on  the  navel  of  that  sea 

"Where,  floating  on  the  Maelstrom,  abide 

The  krakens  sheltering  under  Norway's  lee,  — 

But  go  not  to  Nahant,  lest  men  should  swear 

You  are  a  great  deal  bigger  than  you  are. 


THE  FLOURE   OF   SOUVENANCE. 


WE  have  already  pointed  out  to  the  reader  the  huge  hump- 
backed bowlder  rising  from  the  sea  called  Egg  Eock. 
The  story  we  are  about  to  relate  is  intimately  associated  with 
that  picturesque  object.  Long  ago,  when  Nahant  first  began 
to  claim  attention  as  a  summer 
resort,  two  young  people  met  here 
for  the  first  time.  The  acquaint- 
ance soon  ripened  into  friendship, 
and  from  friendship  into  love. 
The  pair  were  inseparable.  He 
was  devoted  to  infatuation,  she 
too  happy  to  remember  that  there 
was  any  world  outside  of  that  in 
which  they  then  lived.  The  lover 
was  in  every  way  worthy  of  the 
lady,  and  she  of  him ;  and  only 
one  thing   stood  in   the    way   of 

their  happiness.  That  one  obstacle  lay  in  the  fact  that  the 
young  man  was  an  Italian  by  adoption,  although  an  American 
by  birth ;  and  Alice,  the  young  girl  whose  love  he  had  won, 
when  pressed  by  him  to  consent  to  an  immediate  marriage,  had 
replied  :  "  My  dear  friend,  first  go  and  obtain  the  sanction  of 
your  parents,  and  then  it  shall  all  be  as  you  wish." 


FORGET-ME-NOTS. 


160  XEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


with  this  purpose,  which  had  now  become  the  sole 
motive  of  his  life,  the  youug  maa  secured  a  passage  in  a  vessel 
which  was  to  sail  in  two  days  for  Leghorn.  He  then  returned 
to  Nahant  in  order  to  spend  the  few  hours  remaining  to  him  in 
the  society  of  his  betrothed. 

It  was  the  last  evening,  and  the  young  couple  were  wandering 
over  the  brow  of  the  headland  where  they  had  so  often  walked 
before,  and  whence  the  long  leagues  of  glittering  sea  had  always 
seemed  so  beautiful,  and  the  breeze  and  the  billows  so  invigor- 
ating and  elevating  to  them.  Both  were  silent.  Unknown  to 
each  other,  they  were  musing  upon  the  question  that  has  dis- 
tracted so  many  minds,  —  the  serpent  in  their  Eden,  —  Since  we 
are  so  happy,  why  should  we  be  separated  1  But  the  sullen 
dash  of  the  waves  at  their  feet  was  their  only  response.  They 
clung  to  each  other  and  dreamed  on. 

While  standing  thus  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  a  strange  fancy 
came  into  the  lover's  head.  Why  it  is  that  in  moments  of 
supreme  trouble  the  merest  trifles  should  force  themselves 
uppermost  in  our  minds,  we  do  not  pretend  to  explain.  The 
young  man  suddenly  recollected  one  of  the  local  traditions,  run- 
ning to  the  effect  that  the  lady  who  should  receive  from  her 
lover's  hand  the  Floure  of  Souvenance,  or  Forget-me-not,  grow- 
ing only  in  one  lonely  spot  on  the  little  island  before  them, 
would  remain  forever  constant. 

"  Let  me  give  you  one  more  proof  of  my  love,  dear  Alice, 
before  we  part,  and  let  it  be  the  flower  plucked  from  the  summit 
of  yonder  rock  that  lies  there  before  us,"  he  gayly  said,  feeling 
that  she  would  divine  his  purpose. 

"  I  require  no  new  proof  of  your  affection,"  she  replied  ;  "  but 
do  as  you  will." 

Unobserved  by  the  lovers,  the  sea  was  steadily  rising,  and 
upon  the  distant  coast  the  rote  was  growing  every  moment 
more  ominously  distinct.  The  young  man  was  ranch  too  in- 
tent, however,  upon  his  object  to  notice  these  warning  signs  ; 
in  his  present  frame  of  mind  he  would  gladly  have  braved 
even  greater  dangers  in  order  to  gratify  his  mistress.     He  ran 


THE  FLOUKE  OF  SOUVENANCE.  161 

lightly  down  the  rocks  to  where  his  boat  was  anchored,  and  in 
a  moment  more,  heedless  of  the  warning  voice  of  a  stranger, 
had  seated  himself  at  the  helm,  and  was  mounting  the  incoming 
waves  on  his  way  to  Egg  Eock. 

"  Wait  for  the  next  tide,"  shouted  the  warning  voice,  "  or  I 
will  not  answer  for  your  safety  ! " 

"  The  next  tide,"  murmured  the  young  man,  "  will  bear  me 
far  from  her;  it  is  now  or  never,"  waving  his  hand  to  Alice 
on  the  cUfF.  Alice  watched  him  in  a  kind  of  stupor ;  she  had 
heard  the  voice.  "  My  God  !  "  she  murmured  with  white  lips, 
"  what  have  I  done  ? " 

The  adventurous  young  man,  however,  reached  the  rock  m 
safety,  climbed  its  rugged  side,  and  stood  at  length  on  its  sum- 
mit. He  was  soon  seen  to  come  down  to  the  shore  again,  to 
loosen  his  sail,  unmoor,  and  stand  boldly  for  Nahant.  All  this 
was  seen  from  the  clife.  Alice  had  not  stirred  from  the  spot 
where  he  had  left  her. 

But  from  moment  to  moment  the  rising  wind  and  tide,  swell- 
ing in  angry  chorus,  rendered  the  passage  more  and  more  peril- 
ous. In  vain  the  intrepid  voyager  tried  to  hold  his  course ; 
the  little  boat  seemed  to  lie  at  their  mercy.  Kow  it  sank 
down  out  of  sight,  and  now  it  struggled  up  again  to  the  summit 
of  a  billow  rolling  heavily  in  and  shaking  the  foam  from  its 
mane.  It  soon  became  unmanageable,  drifting  helplessly  toward 
the  rocks.  The  seas  drenched  it,  the  darkness  closed  around  it ; 
but  as  it  came  nearer  and  nearer,  the  lookers-on  could  see  the 
young  man  still  grasping  the  helm  as  if  buoyed  up  by  the  hope 
of  steering  to  some  opening  among  the  rocks  where  he  might 
safely  land.  At  one  moment  it  seemed  as  if  he  would  succeed  ; 
but  in  another  the  boat  was  swallowed  up  by  a  breaker  that 
crushed  it  hke  an  egg-shell  against  the  rocks,  at  the  feet  of 
the  spectators.  The  next  day  the  body  was  recovered ;  in  its 
clenched  and  stiffened  hand  was  the  fatal  Forget-me-not. 


11 


162  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


SWAMPSCOTT    BEACH. 

SWAINIPSCOTT  is  a  succession  of  hard  sand-beaches  and 
rocky,  picturesque  headlands,  forming  with  Nahant,  Nahant 
Bay.  It  was  formerly,  as  we  remember,  a  part  of  Lynn ;  and  so 
closely  are  they  united  to-day,  that  it  would  requu'e  a  surveyor  to 
tell  where  the  one  ends  or  the  other  begins.  In  making  a  tour  of 
the  shores  one  crosses  successively  King's  Beach,  Whale  Beach, 
and  Phillips  Beach,  —  all  of  which  are  the  summer  playground  of 
the  multitudes  who  in  that  season  come  here  for  health  or  recrea- 
tion, or  for  both.  The  high  and  glittering  shore  sweeps  gracefully 
around  toward  the  east,  far  out  into  the  ocean,  until  it  is  frittered 
away  in  a  cluster  of  foam-crested  ledges  that  lie  in  treacherous 
ambuscade  at  its  extreme  point.  That  curving  shore  is  Phillips 
Point,  and  the  reef  is  Dread  Ledge.  There  is  a  handsome  villa 
or  cottage  for  every  elevated  site  along  the  two  miles  of  shore. 

The  extremity  of  Phillips  Point  is  a  wicked-looking  shore,  and 
Dread  Ledge  is  the  synonyme  for  danger  to  the  mariner.  The 
surrounding  waters  are  thickly  sown  Avith  half-submerged  rocks, 
which  in  the  delirium  of  a  gale  seem  rooted  in  hell  itself.  Here, 
in  January,  1857,  the  ill-fated  Tedesco  was  swallowed  up,  with 
every  soul  on  board  ;  and  such  was  the  mastery  of  the  tempest 
over  things  terrestrial,  that  the  disaster  was  not  known  in  tlie 
neighboring  village  until  the  following  day.  In  that  memorable 
gale  the  sea  inundated  the  marshes,  swept  unchecked  over  its 
ordinary  barriers,  and  heaped  a  rampart  of  frozen  surf  upon  the 
beaches,  in  which  the  broken  masts  of  wrecks  were  left  sticking. 
Streets  and  roads  were  so  blocked  up  by  immense  snowdrifts, 
that  all  travel  was  suspended  for  several  days.  The  ponderous 
anchors  of  the  Tedesco  were  found  lying,  where  the  seas  had 
thrown  them,  upon  the  top  of  a  rock  ;  and  they  were  all  that 


SWAMPSCOTT    BEACH.  163 

was  left  to  tell  the  tale,  for  not  a  vestige  of  the  hull  remained. 
Another  vessel  was  afterward  wrecked  here ;  but,  being  driven 
nearer  the  land,  her  crew,  one  by  one,  walked  to  the  shore  over 
the  bowsprit. 

Swampscott  was,  and  still  is,  a  typical  New- England  fishing- 
village  ;  that  is  its  true  estate.  The  summer  visitors  are  mere 
birds  of  passage  ;  but  the  men  who  are  native  here  pursue  their 
hazardous  calling  the  whole  year  through.  Nothing  can  be 
more  curious  than  to  see  the  old  life  of  a  place  thus  preserved  in 
the  midst  of  the  wealth  and  fashion  that  have  grown  up  around 
it  and  overshadowed  it.  But  in  this  fact  we  think  lies  one 
great  charm  of  such  a  place. 

There  is  no  difficulty  whatever  in  placing  the  scene  of  Haw- 
thorne's "Village  Uncle"  here.  That  sketch  is  in  truth  only  a 
series  of  pictures  of  the  surroundings  and  of  the  plain  fisherfolk, 
taken  from  life,  to  which,  from  the  snug  chimney-corner  of  a 
fisherman's  humble  cottage,  the  garrulous  old  "  Uncle  "  adds  his 
own  store  of  gossip  and  of  sea-lore.     Hear  him  :  — 

"  Toss  on  an  armful  of  those  dry  oak-chips,  —  the  last  relics  of  the 
*  Mermaid's '  knee-timbers,  the  bones  of  your  namesake,  Susan.  Higher 
yet,  and  clearer,  be  the  blaze,  till  our  cottage  windows  glow  the  rud- 
diest in  the  village,  and  the  light  of  our  household  mirth  flash  far 
across  the  bay  to  Nahant. 

"  Now,  Susan,  for  a  sober  picture  of  our  village  !  It  was  a  small 
collection  of  dwellings  that  seemed  to  have  been  cast  up  by  the  sea, 
with  the  rock-weed  and  marine  plants  that  it  vomits  after  a  storm,  or 
to  have  come  ashore  among  the  pipe-staves  and  other  lumber  which 
liad  been  washed  from  the  deck  of  an  Eastern  schooner.  There  was 
just  space  for  the  narrow  and  sandy  street  between  the  beach  in  front 
and  a  precipitous  liill  that  lifted  its  rocky  forehead  in  the  rear,  among 
a  waste  of  juniper- bushes  and  the  wild  growth  of  a  broken  pastiu'e. 
The  village  was  picturesque  in  the  variety  of  its  edifices,  though  all 
were  rude.  Here  stood  a  little  old  hovel,  built  perhaps  of  driftwood  ; 
there  a  row  of  boat-houses  ;  and  beyond  them  a  two-story  dwelHng  of 
dark  and  weatherbeaten  aspect,  —  the  whole  intermixed  with  one  or 
two  snug  cottages  painted  white,  a  sufficiency  of  pigsties,  and  a  shoe- 
maker's shop." 


164 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


By  the  same  family  resemblance  is  Philips  Beach  recognized 
as  the  scene  of  those  wayward  reveries,  "  Footprints  on  the  Sea- 
shore/' in  which  this  author  thinks  aloud,  rather  than  talks, 
betraying  the  old  truant  impulse  which  occasionally  mastered 
him  to  get  away  from  that  world  in  which  it  is  true  he  lived 
and  moved,  but  could  hardly  be  said  to  have  had  his  beiug. 
We  here  find  him  in  one  of  his  own  creation. 


X 


^^^1 


SALEM  LEGENDS. 


SALEM    LEGENDS. 

IN"  New  England  no  town  except  Plymouth  takes  precedence 
of  Salem  in  the  order  of  settlement,  —  a  fact  of  which  her 
citizens  are  naturally  as  proud  as  an  old  family  is  of  its  pedigree 
going  back  to  the  Conquest,  or  the  Creation.  And  really,  in 
the  creation  of  the  Puritan  Commonwealth,  one  represents  the 
First  Day,  and  the  other  the  Second. 

The  political  and  commercial  fortunes  of  Salem  have  been 
singularly  alike.  Eoger  Conant,  the  founder,  and  leader  of  a 
forlorn  hope,  was  eclipsed  by  Endicott,  who  was  in  turn  over- 
shadowed by  Winthrop,  —  a  man  quick  to  see  that  no  place  was 
large  enough  to  contain  three  governors^  two  of  them  deposed, 
one  in  authority,  and  all  ambitious  to  lead  the  Puritan  vanguard 
in  the  great  crusade  of  the  century.  The  site  was  not  approved. 
'  He  therefore  sought  out  a  new  one,  to  which  the  seat  of  govern- 
ment was  presently  removed,  leaving  Salem,  by  the  course  of 
these  events,  a  modest  reflection  of  the  Puritan  capital,  and 
nothing  more.  The  halls  of  the  Essex  Institute  contain  many 
interesting  relics  of  the  time  when  Salem  played  an  important 
part  in  Colonial  history. 

In  respect  to  its  commercial  importance,  which  at  one  time 
was  very  great,  —  ships  in  the  Hooghly  and  the  Yang-tse,  ships 
at  Ceylon  and  Madagascar,  sliips  on  the  Gold  Coast,  in  Polynesia 
and  Vancouver ;  you  can  hardly  put  a  thought  on  the  wide  seas 


168  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

where  there  were  not  ships  flying  like  a  swarm  of  industrious 
bees  to  every  far  sea  and  clime,  —  an  importance  so  great,  in- 
deed, that  its  merchants  were  called  King  this  and  King  that, 
while  by  reason  of  the  frequent  intercourse  had  with  those 
"far  countrees,"  its  society  took  a  tone  and  color  almost  Ori- 
ental ;  yet,  its  greater  rival  again  overshadowing  it,  most  singu- 
larly converted  Salem  from  a  seaport  of  the  first  rank  into  a 
modestly  flourishing  place  of  manufactures.  That  side  of  the 
city  representing  its  old  eminence  is  paralyzed  ;  while  the  other 
half,  although  exhibiting  a  still  vigorous  life,  has  no  such  dis- 
tinctive traits  as  when  Salem  was  the  recognized  mart  of  the 
Indies.  In  the  cabinets  of  the  Peabody  Museum  the  interested 
visitor  sees  on  all  sides  a  thousand  evidences  of  her  ancient  com- 
mercial renown,  brought  from  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe  in 
her  own  ships,  and  the  sole  proofs  to-day  that  such  renown 
ever  existed. 

Quite  recently  an  embassy  from  the  Queen  of  Madagascar 
arrived  in  the  United  States.  In  the  course  of  their  tour  they 
visited  Boston,  not  for  the  sake  of  anything  that  city  could 
offer  as  a  temptation  to  African  curiosity,  but  because  it  lay 
in  the  route  to  Salem.  They  were  particularly  anxious  to  see 
Salem,  whch  is  still  supposed  by  many  of  the  natives  of  Mada- 
gascar to  be  the  only  port  of  much  importance  in  America. 

Story,  the  sculptor-poet,  who,  like  Hawthorne,  is  Salem-born, 
commemorates  these  well-remembered  scenes  of  his  youth,  — 

Ah  me,  how  many  an  autumn  day 
We  watched,  with  palpitating  breast, 

Some  stately  ship  from  India  or  Cathay, 
Laden  with  spicy  odors  from  the  East, 
Come  sailing  up  the  Bay  ! 

Unto  our  youthful  hearts  elate. 
What  wealth  beside  their  real  freight 
Of  rich  material  tilings  they  bore  1 
Ours  were  Arabian  cargoes  fair, 
Mysterious,  exquisite,  and  rare. 


SALEM   LEGENDS.  169 

And  of  the  old  houses,  "  dark,  gloomy,  and  peculiar,"  wherein 
strange  things  were  said  to  have  happened,  he  says  :  — 

How  oft,  half  fearfully,  we  prowled 

Around  those  gabled  houses  quaint  and  old, . 

Whose  legends,  grim  and  terrible, 

Of  witch  and  ghost  that  used  in  them  to  dwell, 
Around  the  twilight  fire  were  told ; 

While  huddled  close  with  anxious  ear 

We  heard  them  quivering  with  fear  ; 

And  if  the  daylight  half  o'ercame  the  spell, 
'T  was  with  a  lingering  dread 

We  oped  the  door  and  touched  the  stinging  bell. 

For  with  its  sound  it  seemed  to  rouse  the  dead, 
And  wake  some  ghost  from  out  the  dusky  haunts 
Where  faint  the  dayhght  fell. 

But  it  so  chances  —  or  mischances,  according  to  the  light  in 
which  we  may  view  it  —  that  the  very  things  impeding  her  pro- 
gress have  left  Salem  all  the  more  interesting  for  our  own  purpose, 
—  as,  in  fact,  it  must  be  to  him  who,  receiving  his  impressions 
from  history,  expects  to  find  distinct  traces  of  Endicott  and  of 
Eoger  Williams,  oj  having  imbibed  them  from  romance,  eagerly 
looks  about  him  for  some  authentic  memorials  of  "  The  Scarlet 
Letter"  or  for  "The  House  of  the  Seven  Gables."  For  here  the 
past  not  only  survives,  but  it  may  be  said  actually  to  flourish  with 
perennial  freshness  in  old  houses,  old  traditions,  old  silver, 
antique  portraits,  and  in  all  the  much  treasured  heirlooms  of 
other  days. 

The  two  most  noteworthy  things  that  have  happened  in  Salem 
are  the  Witchcraft  Persecvition — that  anomaly  among  events  — 
and  the  birth  of  Xathaniel  Hawthorne,  —  that  anomaly  among 
men.  Without  suspecting  it,  the  traveller  who  arrives  by  the 
usual  route  is  at  once  ushered  upon  the  scene  of  a  tragedy  in 
which  it  was  the  guilty  who  escaped,  and  the  innocent  who  were 
punished. 

Just  out  of  the  city,  on  its  southern  skirt,  the  Eastern  Railway 


170  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

passes  within  near  view  of  an  uncoutli  heap  of  steep-sided  gray 
rocks,  moderately  high,  on  whose  windy  summit  a  few  houses 
make  a  group  of  dusky  silliouettes.  This  is  a  sort  of  waste 
place,  good  neither  for  planting,  grazing,  or  building,  nor  likely 
to  serve  any  more  useful  purpose  than  a  stone-quarry  or  a  land- 
mark might,  for  the  region  surrounding  it.  In  no  way  does  it 
vary  the  monotony  of  the  landscape,  being  wholly  treeless  and 
almost  without  vegetation.  Travellers  look  listlessly,  and  turn 
away.     Yet  stay  a  moment ! 

Long  ago,  so  long  that  no  living  man  remembers  it,  one  soli- 
tary tree  grew  upon  that  rocky,  wind-swept  height.  But  at  length 
a  blight  fell  upon  it ;  it  sickened  and  died ;  its  limbs  one  by  one 
rotted  and  dropped  off;  and,  after  contending  a  while  with  the 
wintry  blasts  that  threatened  to  uproot  it,  the  withered  skeleton 
of  a  tree  was  cut  down  and  cast  into  the  fire.  Those  cold  gray 
ledges  where  it  stood  is  Gallows  Hill.  The  tree,  tradition  says, 
was  that  upon  which  the  condemned  witches  were  hung.  The 
houses  encroach  upon  the  graves  of  the  victims. 

From  the  moment  of  passing  this  fatal  place,  neither  the  noise 
nor  the  throng  will  be  able  to  distract  the  stranger's  thoughts, 
wholly  occupied  as  they  are  with  the  sinister  memories  that  the 
sight  has  awakened  within  him. 

Let  us  throw  a  glance  around  us. 

Upon  entering  the  city,  the  great  high-road  running  north 
and  south  takes  the  more  ambitious  and  dignified  name  of 
street.  Upon  reaching  the  heart  of  the  city,  it  expands  into 
a  public  square,  or,  not  to  mix  up  two  distinct  eras,  the  old 
town  market-place.  At  one  end  the  street  skirts  Gallows  Hill. 
As  he  advances  towards  the  centre,  the  curious  visitor  may  still 
see  the  quaint  old  house,  now  an  apothecary's,  in  which  Roger 
Williams  lived,  and  in  which  tradition  says  that  some  of  the 
witchcraft  examinations  were  held  ;  in  the  Square  he  has  arrived 
in  the  region,  half  real,  half  romantic,  described  in  Hawthorne's 
tales  (not  twice,  but  a  thousand  times,  told),  "  INFain  Street,"  "  A 
Rill  from  the  Town-rump,"  and  "  Endicott  and  the  Red  Cross," 
of  which  latter  this  is  a  fragment :  — 


SALEM   LEGENDS.  171 

"The  central  object  in  the  mirrored  picture  was  an  edifice  of 
humble  architecture,  with  neither  steeple  nor  bell  to  proclaim  it  — 
what  nevertheless  it  was  —  the  house  of  prayer.  A  token  of  the 
perils  of  the  wilderness  was  seen  in  the  grim  head  of  a  wolf  which 
had  just  been  slain  within  the  precincts  of  the  town,  and,  according  to 
the  regular  mode  of  claiming  the  bounty,  was  nailed  to  the  porch  of 
the  meeting-house.     The  blood  was  still  plashing  on  the  door-step. 

"  In  close  vicinity  to  the  sacred  edifice  appeared  that  important  en- 
gine of  Puritanic  authority,  the  whipping-post — with  the  soil  around  it 
well  trodden  by  the  feet  of  evil-doers,  who  had  there  been  disciplined. 
At  one  corner  of  the  meeting-house  was  the  pillory,  and  at  the  other 
the  stocks  ;  and,  by  a  singular  good  fortune,  for  our  sketch,  the  head 
of  an  Episcopalian  and  suspected  Catholic  was  grotesquely  incased 
in  the  former  machine  ;  while  a  feUow-criminal  who  had  boister- 
ously quaffed  a  health  to  the  King  was  confined  by  the  legs  in  the 
latter." 

But  this  truly  Hudibrastic  picture  is  only  the  grimly  humo- 
rous prelude  to  another  of  a  very  different  nature,  upon  which  is 
founded  that  story  of  sin,  remorse,  and  shame,  "The  Scarlet 
Letter." 

In  .the  throng  surrounding  the  culprits  just  sketched  for  us, 
"  There  was  likewise  a  young  woman  with  no  mean  share  of 
beauty,  whose  doom  it  was  to  wear  the  letter  '  A '  on  the  breast 
of  her  gown,  in  the  eyes  of  all  the  world  and  her  own  children. 
And  even  her  own  children  knew  what  that  initial  signified. 
Sporting  with  her  infamy,  the  lost  and  desperate  creature  had 
embroidered  the  fatal  token  in  scarlet  cloth  with  golden  thread 
and  the  nicest  art  of  needlework ;  so  that  the  capital  A  might 
have  been  thought  to  mean  Admirable,  or  anything  rather  than 
Adulteress." 

Mr.  Hawthorne  tells  us  that  he  found  the  missive  from  which 
this  incident  is  drawn,  and  which  subsequently  formed  the 
groundwork  of  his  novel,  in  the  room  occupied  by  him  in  the 
Salem  Custom-House  while  he  was  serving  as  surveyor  of 
the  port  under  the  veteran  General  James  Miller,  —  the  hero 
of  Lundy's  Lane.  In  one  respect,  therefore,  the  distinguished 
American  novelist's  life  has  its  analogy  to  that  of  Charles  Lamb, 


172  NEW-EXGLAXD   LEGENDS. 

following  whom  in  liis  inimitable  monologue  on  the  South  Sea 
House,  which  forms  the  initial  chapter  to  the  "  Essays  of  Elia  " 
our  own  countrjnuan,  though  in  a  difierent  spirit,  sketches  the 
Old  Custom-House  and  its  corps  of  superannuated  weighers, 
gangers,  and  tide-waiters  as  the  introduc- 
tory chapter  to  "  The  Scarlet  Letter." 

This  old  red-brick  edifice,  if  we  except 
a  later  renovation  of  its  interior,  stands 
precisely  as  it  did  in  the  novelist's  time,  — 
the  prominent  object  in  a  region  which  it 
is  only  too  evident  has  seen  better  days, 
but  is  gradually  growing  more  and  more 
ruinous  as  every  year  the  houses  grow 
grayer  and  more  shaky.     The  same  flag 

THE  SCARLET  LETTER.        »     "^  ''  ° 

waves  from  the  cupola,  the  same  eagle, 
much  tarnished,  however,  by  the  weather,  extends  its  gilded 
wings  above  the  entrance  door.  The  novelist  describes  it  in  a 
gi-imly  satirical  way  as  an  asylum  for  decayed  politicians,  who 
dozed  and  slept  in  easy  tranquillity  during  the  hours  nominally 
devoted  to  business,  there  being  little  to  do,  except  to  keep  up 
the  appearance  of  official  regularity.  The  surveyor  cuts  his 
portraits  with  a  diamond.  His  desk,  showing  the  marks  of  a 
nervous  or  an  idle  hand  visible  in  many  lines  and  gashes  upon 
it,  is  preserved  among  the  curiosities  of  Plummer  Hall.  When 
we  look  at  it,  even  the  homage  due  to  genius  can  hardly  pre- 
vent a  feeling  of  pity  rising  for  the  life  that  was  so  long  overcast 
by  the  gloom  of  unfulfilled  aspirations,  so  embittered  by  the 
tardiness  of  a  recognition  which  came  too  late. 

Not  far  from  the  Custom-House,  in  a  narrow  by-street,  is  the 
ancient  wooden  tenement  in  Avhich  the  novelist  was  born.  We 
pass,  as  it  Avere,  through  a  corner  of  the  eighteenth  century,  of 
which  this  house  is  indubitably  a  relic.  It  is  an  humble  dwell- 
ing, with  humble  surroundings.  Here  he  wrote  many  of  the 
shorter  tales,  that  it  is  entirely  safe  to  say  have  now  more  readers 
than  when  they  first  saw  the  light,  and  many  more  that  he  tells 
us  were  committed  to  the  flames ;   here  he  kept  that  long  and 


SALEM   LEGENDS.  173 

weary  vigil  while  waiting  for  the  slow  dawning  of  his  fame  ; 
and  here  he  tells  us  that  it  was  won. 

To  these  early  struggles,  ending  with  repeated  disappointment, 
is  doubtless  to  be  ascribed  the  indifference  with  which  Haw- 
thorne speaks  of  the  city  of  his  birth.  He  refers  his  return  to 
it  from  time  to  time  to  a  sort  of  fataUty  which  he  passively 
obeyed.  Though  indeed  he  admits  a  certain  languid  attrac- 
tion to  it,  we  can  hardly  distinguish  it  from  repulsion,  so  inti- 
mately do  these  opposite  feelings  mingle  in  the  current.  Yet 
the  same  hand  that  penned  "  The  House  of  the  Seven  Gables  " 
and  the  "  Old  Custom-House"  puts  the  early  history  of  Salem  in 
a  nutshell  in  "  Main  Street;"  and  it  also  gave  us  those  fascinat- 
ing chapters  of  revery,  "Sights  from  a  Steeple"  and  "A  Rill 
from  the  Town-Pump,"  —  all  drawn  from  the  associations  of 
the  master's  birthplace. 

But  to  speak  of  things  as  they  are,  "  The  Scarlet  Letter  "  was 
really  one  of  those  ingenious  methods  of  punishment,  almost 
Satanic  in  their  conception,  which  disgrace  the  criminal  annals 
of  the  Colony.  For  different  offences  a  different  letter  was  pre- 
scribed, to  be  worn  as  well  in  private  as  in  public,  —  the  wearer 
thus  being  made,  perhaps  for  a  lifetime,  the  hving  record  of  his 
or  her  own  infamy.  The  drunkard  wore  a  capital  letter  D,  the 
criminal  convicted  of  incest  an  I,  of  heresy  an  H,  and  of  adultery 
an  A,  sewed  on  the  arm  or  breast ;  and  this  accusing  insignia  was 
forbidden  to  be  removed  upon  pain  of  a  severer  penalty,  if  such 
a  thing  were  possible.  Many  a  poor  sinner  thus  wore  his  heart 
upon  his  sleeve,  "  for  daws  to  peck  at." 

The  novelist,  by  instinct,  seized  upon  one  of  the  most  strik- 
ing episodes  of  the  hard  Puritan  life.  The  scene  of  his  tale  is 
laid,  not  in  Salem,  but  in  Boston.  As  we  have  said,  the  sketch 
of  "  Endicott  and  the  Red  Cross "  contains  the  germ  of  this 
story,  which  afterward  became  in  the  author's  hands  the  Avork 
generally  conceded  to  be  his  greatest. 

Although  Hawthorne  makes  bat  slight  use  of  the  witchcraft 
history  in  constructing  his  "  House  of  the  Seven  Gables,"  the 
opening  chapter  of  that  remarkable  story  shows  him  to  have 


174  NEW-EXGLAXD   LEGENDS. 

beea  familiar  with  it.  But  notwithstanding  the  apparent  adher- 
ence to  truth  there,  contrived  with  such  consummate  art  as  to 
fix  the  impression  in  the  reader's  mind  that  the  legend  of  the 
old  Pyncheon  family  is  derived  from  some  authentic  source,  it 
will  be  better  to  regard  the  author's  statement,  made  in  his  own 
characteristic  way,  "  that  the  reader,  according  to  his  own  pleas- 
ure, may  either  disregard,  or  allow  it  to  float  imperceptibly  about 
the  characters  and  events  for  the  sake  of  picturesque  effect." 
Thus  by  freely  availing  himself  of  the  names  of  actual  person- 
ages whose  history  is  artfully  interwoven  with  occurrences  that 
have  really  happened,  and  again  by  associating  these  with  local 
descriptioas  of  rare  fidelity,  the  wished-for  effect  of  sohd  reaHty 
is  produced,  and  the  story  proceeds  on  a  chain  of  circumstantial 
evidence  whose  strength  lies  solely  in  the  master-hand  that  fab- 
ricated it,  link  by  link,  from  the  materials  of  his  own  rich  fancy. 
In  the  concluding  words  of  his  preface,  the  author,  with  singular 
frankness,  when  his  purpose  is  considered,  again  disenthralls  the 
minds  of  his  auditors  of  the  effect  which  he  was  quick  to  see 
that  his  peculiar  method  must  inevitably  produce  therein.  But 
as  a  preface  is  always  the  last  thing  written,  so  it  notoriously  is 
the  last  to  be  read ;  and  thus  has  the  author's  apology  for  introdu- 
cing names  which  struck  his  fancy,  and  for  connecting  them  with 
scenes  familiar  to  him  from  boyhood,  so  far  failed  of  its  pur- 
pose, that  people  still  persist  in  prying  into  the  antecedents  of  a 
family,  distinguished  in  the  early  annals  of  New  England,  on 
whose  escutcheon  no  stain  or  stigma  is  known  to  rest ! 

After  this  explanation  it  will  be  scarcely  necessary  to  observe 
that  the  Avords  which  are  put  into  the  mouth  of  Matthew  !Maule 
at  the  moment  he  is  ascending  the  fatal  ladder,  a  condemned 
and  abhorred  wizard,  and  which  form  the  underlying  motive  of 
the  "  House  of  the  Seven  Gables,"  —  the  blight  of  an  evil  destiny 
passing  from  generation  to  generation,  —  were  as  a  matter  of 
fact  really  spoken  by  Sarah  Good,  not  to  Colonel  Pyncheon,  but 
to  the  Reverend  Nicholas  Noyes,  who  most  cruelly  and  wickedly 
embittered  her  last  moments  by  telling  her  that  she  was  a  mis- 
erable witch.     And  it  was  to  him  she  made   the  memorable 


SALEM   LEGENDS.  175 

reply  that  "  if  he  took  away  her  Hfe,  God  would  give  him  blood 
to  drink." 

There  is,  however,  reason  for  supposing,  since  it  has  been  so 
minutely  described,  that  the  house  of  the  seven  gables  was 
at  least  suggested  by  that  of  Philip  English,  who  was  near 
becoming  a  martyr  to  the  witchcraft  horror  himself.  What  is 
clearer  still,  is  that  the  novelist  has  laid  several  of  the  old 
Colonial  houses,  both  in  Salem  and  Boston,  under  contribution 
for  whatever  might  embellish  his  description,  which  is  certainly 
no  invention,  but  is  a  true  picture  of  the  early  architecture  even 
in  its  minutest  details.  But  in  such  an  unreal  atmosphere  as 
surrounds  it,  we  are  not  sure  that  the  house  itself  may  not  turn 
out  to  be  an  illusion  of  the  mirage  created  by  an  effort  of  the 
weird  romancer's  will.  Its  appearance  is  thus  portrayed  in  the 
opening  words  of  the  romance,  — 

"  There  it  rose,  a  little  withdrawn  irom  the  line  of  the  street,  but  in 
pride,  not  modesty.  Its  whole  visible  exterior  was  ornamented  with 
quaint  figures,  conceived  in  the  grotescLueness  of  a  Gothic  fancy, 
and  drawn  or  stamped  in  the  glittering  plaster,  composed  of  lime, 
pebbles,  and  bits  of  glass,  with  which  the  woodwork  of  the  walls  was 
overspread.  On  every  side  the  seven  gables  pointed  sharply  towards 
the  sky,  and  presented  the  aspect  of  a  whole  sisterhood  of  edifices, 
breathing  through  the  spiracles  of  one  great  chimney.  The  many 
lattices,  with  their  small,  diamond-shaped  panes,  admitted  the  sun- 
light into  hall  and  chamber,  while  nevertheless  the  second  story, 
projecting  far  over  the  base,  and  itself  retiring  beneath  the  third, 
threw  a  shadowy  and  thoughtful  gloom  into  the  lower  rooms.  Carved 
globes  of  wood  were  affixed  under  the  jutting  stories.  Little  spiral 
rods  of  iron  beautified  each  of  the  seven  peaks.  On  the  triangular 
portion  of  the  gable,  that  fronted  next  the  street,  was  a  dial,  put  up 
that  very  morning,  and  on  which  the  sun  was  still  marking  the  pas- 
sage of  the  first  bright  hour  in  a  history  that  was  not  destined  to  be 
all  so  bright." 


176  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


THE   ESCAPE    OF   PHILIP    ENGLISH. 

THE  story  of  Philip  Englisli  and  his  wife  is  quite  as  well 
worthy  a  romance  as  the  house  in  which  they  lived.  We 
can  moreover,  answer  for  its  strict  truth. 

During  the  time  of  the  Avitchcraft  delusion  at  the  Village,  the 
victims  were  in  nearly  every  case  people  in  the  humblest  walk  of 
life.  Philip  English  of  Salem  was  the  first  person  of  superior 
station  to  be  attainted  by  this  persecution,  Avhich,  like  a  Avolf 
that  is  maddened  by  the  taste  of  blood,  began  to  grow  bolder  in 
pursuit  of  its  victims. 

PhUip  English  had  emigrated  to  America  from  the  island  of 
Jersey.  Having  found  a  home  in  the  family  of  Mr.  "William 
Hollingsworth,  a  wealthy  inhabitant  of  Salem,  he  formed  the 
acquaintance  of  Mr.  Hollingsworth's  only  child,  Susanna,  who, 
as  is  evident  from  her  history,  besides  having  received  from  her 
father  an  education  superior  to  the  usual  requirements  of  that 
day,  possessed  rare  endowments  of  mind  and  person.  The 
acquaintance  ripened  into  mutual  affection,  and  in  due  time 
Philip  English  married  the  daughter  of  his  friend  and  patron. 
He  too  became  in  time  a  rich  and  eminent  merchant. 

In  April,  1692,  the  terrible  accusation  fell  like  a  thunderbolt 
upon  this  happy  home.  The  Avife  and  mother  was  the  first 
victim  to  the  creduhty  or  malignity  of  her  neighbors.  In  the 
night  the  officer  entered  her  bedchamber,  read  his  fatal  war- 
rant, and  then  surrounded  the  house  with  guards,  intending  to 
carry  her  to  prison  in  the  morning.  Mrs.  English  gave  herself 
up  for  lost.  With  supreme  heroism,  however,  she  gathered  her 
stricken  family  together  in  the  morning  to  its  usual  devotions, 
gave  directions  for  the  education  of  her  children,  clasped  them 
to  her  bosom,  kissed  them,  and  then,  commending  them  and  her- 


THE    ESCAPE   OF   PHILIP    ENGLISH. 


177 


self  to  God,  bade  them  farewell.  She  was  then  taken  by  the 
sheriff  before  the  sitting  magistrates,  Hathorne  and  Curwen, 
who  committed  her  to  Salem  jail  as  a  witch.  Her  firmness  is 
memorable.  A  little  later  her  liusband  was  also  accused  by  a 
poor  bedridden  creature.  He  concealed  himself  for  a  time  ;  but 
at  length  he  came  forward,  gave  himself  up,  and  demanded  the 


PHILIP  English's  house,  salem. 

privilege  of  sharing  his  wife's  fate.  The  two  were  immured  in 
the  same  dungeon  to  await  the  solemn  farce  of  a  trial.  The 
prison  being  crowded  to  overflowing,  English  and  his  wife 
were,  through  the  intercession  of  friends,  removed  to  tlie  jail  in 
Boston,  wdiere  for  six  weeks  they  endured  the  dismal  prospect 
of  dying  together  upon  the  scaffold. 

12 


178  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

But  fortunately  for  them,  and  iu  consequence,  doubtless,  of 
the  fact  that  English  was  a  merchant  of  property,  and  a  person 
of  known  probity,  he  and  his  unfortunate  wife  were  admitted 
to  bail,  being  allowed  the  privilege  of  the  town  by  day,  on 
condition  of  punctually  returning  to  the  prison  at  night,  to  be 
locked  up  again  until  the  following  morning.  Though  ren- 
deriug  their  condition  more  tolerable,  this  did  not  make  it 
the  less  hopeless.  They  were  visited  in  their  prison  by  some 
of  the  most  eminent  clergymen  of  the  town,  one  of  whom, 
the  Eeverend  Joshua  Moody,  —  peace  to  his  memory  !  —  mani- 
fested the  deepest  interest  in  their  spiritual  and  temporal  wel- 
fare. This  good  man,  whose  sound  head  refused  to  admit  the 
prevailing  delusion,  while  his  equally  sound  heart  fitted  him  for 
deeds  of  mercy,  like  that  upon  which  he  was  now  bent,  went  to 
the  prison  on  the  day  before  Enghsh  and  his  wife  were  to  be 
taken  back  to  Salem  for  trial,  and  invited  them  to  attend  at  pub- 
lic Avorsliip  in  his  church.     They  went. 

When  he  ascended  the  pulpit,  the  clergyman  announced 
as  his  text  this  verse,  having  a  peculiar  significance  to  two  of 
his  hearers :  "  If  they  persecute  you  in  one  city,  flee  into 
another ! " 

In  his  discourse,  the  preacher  justified,  with  manly  courage 
and  directness,  any  and  every  attempt  to  escape  from  the  forms 
of  justice  Avhen  justice  itseK  was  being  violated  in  them. 
After  the  service  was  over,  the  minister  again  visited  the  prison- 
ers in  their  cell,  and  asked  English  pointedly  whether  he  had 
detected  the  meaning  of  his  sermon  of  the  morning.  English 
hesitating  to  commit  himself,  Mr.  Moody  frankly  told  him  that 
his  own  life  and  that  of  his  wife  were  in  danger,  and  that  he, 
looking  this  in  the  face,  ought  to  provide  for  an  escape  without 
losing  a  moment.  English  could  not  believe  it ;  it  was  too 
monstrous.  "  God  will  not  suffer  them  to  hurt  me,"  he  said  in 
this  conviction. 

"  What,"   exclaimed    his  wife,  "  do   you  not  think  that  they 
who  have  suffered  already  were  innocent  1 " 
"  Yes." 


THE    ESCAPE    OF   PHILIP    ENGLISH.  179 

"  Why,  then,  may  we  not  suffer  also  1  Take  Mr.  Moody's 
advice ;  let  us  fly." 

To  make  an  end  of  this  indecision,  proceeding  from  tlie  fear 
that  flight  would  be  quickly  construed  to  mean  guilt,  Mr.  Moody 
then  unfolded  his  plan.  He  told  the  reluctant  English  that 
everything  necessary  for  his  escape  had  been  already  provided  : 
that  the  Governor,  Sir  William  Phips,  was  in  the  secret,  and 
countenanced  it;  that  the  jailer  had  his  instructions  to  open 
the  prison  doors ;  and  that,  finally,  all  being  in  readiness,  at 
midnight  a  conveyance,  furnished  by  friends  who  were  in  the 
plot,  would  come  to  carry  them  away  to  a  place  of  security. 
In  fact  every  precaution  that  prudence  could  suggest  or  fore- 
see, or  that  influence  in  high  places  could  secure,  had  been 
taken  by  this  noble  and  self-sacrificing  Christian  man  in  order 
to  prevent  the  shedding  of  innocent  blood.  He  procured  let- 
ters, under  8ir  William's  own  hand  and  seal,  to  Governor 
Fletcher  of  ]N^ew  York,  thus  providing  for  the  fugitives,  first 
a  safeguard,  and  next  an  inviolable  asylum.  Finally,  he  told 
English  plainly  that  if  he  did  not  carry  his  wife  off,  he. 
Moody,  would  do  so  himself.  The  aifair  was  arranged  on  the 
spot. 

At  the  appointed  time  the  prison  doors  were  unbarred,  the 
prisoners  came  out,  and  while  the  solemn  stillness  of  midnight 
brooded  over  the  afliicted  town,  they  fled  from  persecution  in 
one  city  into  another. 

Governor  Fletcher  took  the  homeless  wanderers  into  his  own 
mansion,  where  he  made  them  welcome,  not  as  fugitives  from 
justice,  but  as  exiles  fleeing  from  persecution.  They  were  enter- 
tained as  the  most  honored  of  guests.  The  next  year  Phihp 
Phiglish  returned  home.  The  storm  of  madness  had  passed  by, 
leaving  its  terrible  marks  in  many  households.  His  own  was 
destined  to  feel  its  consequences  in  a  Avay  to  turn  all  his  joy 
into  sorrow.  Within  two  years  from  the  time  she  was  lorn 
from  her  home  to  answer  the  charge  of  felony,  Mrs.  Eng- 
lish died  of  the  cruel  treatment  she  had  received.  Mr.  Moody's 
course  was  commended  by  all  discerning  men,  as  it  deserved ; 


180  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

but  he  felt  the  angry  resentment  of  the  multitude,  among  whom 
sjme  persons  of  high  rank  were  included.  In  consequence  of 
this  persecution  he  returned  to  his  old  charge  at  Portsmouth, 
New  Hampshire,  the  next  year  after  his  successful  interpo- 
sition to  save  Mr.  and  Mrs.  English  from  the  executioner's 
hands. 

Such  is  the  tradition  long  preserved  in  the  English  family. 
PhiUp  EngHsh's  granddaughter  became  Susanna  Hathorne, — 
which  was  the  original  way  of  spelling  the  name  subsequently 
borne  by  the  novelist.  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  had  thus  on  one 
side  for  an  ancestor  the  implacable  persecutor  of  those  to  whom 
he  was  afterward  to  be  related  by  intermarriage,  thus  furnish- 
ing the  idea  he  has  so  ingeniously  worked  out  in  the  "House  of 
the  Seven  Gables." 

Having  given  an  extract  from  Hawthorne's  story  of  "Endicott 
and  the  Eed  Cross,"  we  may  as  well  tell,  with  his  help,  the 
story  itself. 


ENDICOTT   AND   THE   RED   CROSS. 

IN  1634  one  of  the  newly  arrived  ships  brought  from  Eng- 
land a  copy  of  the  commission  granted  to  the  two  Arch- 
bishops and  ten  of  the  Council  to  regulate  all  plantations,  to 
call  in  all  patents,  to  make  laws,  raise  tithes  and  portions  for 
ministers,  to  remove  and  punish  governors,  and  to  hear  and 
determine  all  causes  and  inflict  all  punishments,  even  to  the 
death-penalty.  This  plenary  power,  the  Colonists  were  advised, 
was  levelled  at  them  ;  ships  and  soldiers  were  said  to  be  pre- 
paring in  England  to  bring  over  a  royal  governor  and  to  give 
effect  to  the  much-dreaded  commission.  A  more  distasteful 
piece  of  intelligence  than  this  could  hardly  be  imagined.  It 
struck  at  once  at  the  root  of  all  their  liberties,  and  it  quickly 


ENDIGOTT    AND    THE    RED    CROSS. 


181 


CUTTING   OUT   THE    CROSS. 


aroused  the  spirit  of  resistance  in  full  vigor.  The  work  of  erect- 
ing fortifications  was  hastened.  A  solemn  consultation  between 
the  magistrates  and  the  ministers 
resulted  in  the  determination  to 
defend  themselves  against  these 
innovations  by  force  if  there  was 
a  prospect  of  success,  or  by  tem- 
porizing if  there  were  none.  Only 
in  the  fourth  year  of  its  existence, 
the  Colony  now  stood  on  the 
verge  of  open  rebellion ;  and  while 
thus  in  daily  apprehension  of  the 
total  subversion  of  the  govern- 
ment, an  act  coming  very  little 
short  of  treasonable  was  per- 
formed. 

At   the  ]!^ovember  court   com- 
plaint    was     made    by    Richard 

Brown,  of  Watertown,  that  the  Colony  flag  had  been  defaced 
at  Salem  by  cutting  out  part  of  the  red  cross.  ISTo  action  was 
taken  at  this  court,  but  at  the  next,  Endicott,  the  old  governor, 
was  called  upon  to  answer  for  the  defacement.  The  cause  that 
he  alleged  for  the  act  was  that  the  cross  was  the  hated  emblem 
and  banner  of  Popery.  Opinion  being  divided,  some  upholding 
and  others  censuring,  the  cause  was  again  postponed ;  and  in  the 
meantime  the  newly  created  military  commission  ordered  all  the 
ensigns  to  be  laid  aside,  so  that  the  Colony  was  now  without 
any  flag  at  all. 

At  the  next  court,  which  was  one  of  election,  John  Haynes 
was  chosen  governor  and  Richard  Bellingham  deputy-governor. 
Endicott  was  left  this  time  out  of  the  number  of  assistants  ;  and 
being  again  called  upon  to  defend  his  mutilating  the  ensign,  was 
reprimanded,  and  disqualified  from  holding  office  for  a  year. 
Letters  disavowing  the  act  were  written  to  England.  To  allay 
the  excitement  growing  out  of  this  affair,  it  was  seriously 
proposed  to   substitute   the  red   and    white  rose  for   the    cross 


182 


HEW-ENGLAND   LECxENDS. 


in   the    colors.      The    military  commission   afterward,    in   the 
exercise  of  its  powers,  left  out  the  cross  in  the  colors   borne 

by  the  Colony  troops,  and 
caused  a  flag  having  the 
King's  arms  to  be  raised  over 
the  castle  in  Boston  Har- 
bor. This  leads  us  to  ob- 
serve that  the  fathers  of  the 
Colony  were  making  rapid 
strides  towards  independence. 
They  had  first  refused  to 
tolerate  the  only  form  of  re- 
ligious worship  recognized  by 
the  laws  of  their  country, 
had  disobeyed  a  royal  man- 
date, and  had  at  length  exer- 
cised the  sovereignty  of  an 
independent  State  by  adopt- 
ing a  flag  of  their  own. 

Witli    this     preamble    we 
can  take  up  understandingly 
Hawthorne's  tale,  and  from  this  point  it  is  he  who  speaks  :  — 


SOLDIEE   OF  1630, 


"  Such  was  the  aspect  of  the  times  when  the  folds  of  an  Englisli 
banner,  with  the  red  cross  in  its  field,  were  flung  out  over  a  com- 
pany of  Puritans.  Their  leader,  the  famous  Endicott,  was  a  man 
of  stern  and  resolute  countenance,  the  effect  of  which  was  height- 
ened by  u  grizzled  heard  that  swept  the  upper  portion  of  his  breast- 
plate. ..." 

Having  concluded  a  fiery  harangue  to  his  soldiers,  in  which 
he  acquaints  them  with  the  dangers  menacing  the  unrestrained 
liberty  of  conscience  they  have  hitherto  enjoyed,  — 

"  Endicott  gazed  round  at  the  excited  countenances  of  the  people, 
now  full  of  his  own  spirit,  and  then  turned  suddenly  to  the  standard- 
bearer,  who  stood  close  behind  him. 

"  *  Officer,  lower  your  banner  ! '  said  he. 


CASSANDRA    SOUTHWICK.  183 

"  The  officer  obeyed  ;  and  brandishing  his  sword,  Endicott  thrust 
it  through  the  doth,  and  with  his  left  hand  rent  the  red  cross  com- 
pletely out  of  the  banner.  He  then  waved  the  tattered  ensign  above 
his  head. 

"  '  Sacrilegious  wretch ! '  cried  the  High  Churchman  in  the  pillory, 
unable  longer  to  restrain  himself,  '  thou  hast  rejected  the  symbol  of 
our  holy  religion  ! ' 

"  '  Treason,  treason  ! '  roared  the  royalist  in  the  stocks.  '  He  hath 
defaced  the  King's  banner  ! ' 

" '  Before  God  and  man  I  will  avouch  the  deed,'  answered  Endi- 
cott. '  Beat  a  flourish,  drummer !  —  shout,  soldiers  and  people  !  —  in 
honor  of  the  ensign  of  New  England.  Neither  Pope  nor  Tyrant  hath 
part  in  it  now  ! ' 

"  "With  a  cry  of  triumph,  the  people  gave  their  sanction  to  one  of 
the  boldest  exploits  which  our  history  records.  And  forever  honored 
be  the  name  of  Endicott !  We  look  back  through  the  mist  of  ages, 
and  recognize,  in  the  rending  of  the  red  cross  from  New  England's 
banner,  the  first  omen  of  that  deliverance  which  our  fathers  consum- 
mated, after  the  bones  of  the  stern  Puritan  had  lain  more  than  a 
century  in  the  dust." 

In  the  King's  "  Missive,"  Whittier  commemorates  briefly  the 
same  incident  of  history. 


CASSANDRA   SOUTHWICK. 

A  NOTHER  Salem  legend  recalls  the  dark  day  of  Quaker 
-*--L  persecution  vividly  before  us.  It  is  another  story  of 
the  cruelties  perpetrated  upon  this  sect,  whose  innovations  upon 
the  forms  of  religious  worship  established  in  the  Puritan  Colony 
and  made  part  of  its  fundamental  law,  were  regarded  and  pun- 
ished as  heresies  threatening  the  stability  of  its  institutions,  — 
with  what  incredible  rigor  the  records  show. 

The  Quaker  poet  has  taken  this  sad  chapter  for  the  theme  of 
his  poem  entitled  "  Cassandra  Southwick,"  and  as  the  legitimate 


184 


NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 


avenger  of  the  cruel  wrongs  inflicted  so  long  ago  upon  the  suf- 
fering Friends,  he  now  applies  the  lash  unsparingly  to  the  mem- 
ory of  those  who  acted  prominent  parts  in  commencing  these 
barbarities.  This  may  be  called  poetic  justice  in  its  most  literal 
sense. 

We  will  not  ask  whether,  in  obeying  the  impulse  to  right  one 
wrong,  the  poet  in  presenting  this  case  has  done  full  justice  to 


CONDEMNED   TO   BE    SOLD. 


the  spirit  of  history.  His  is  a  righteous  indignation,  to  which 
every  sympathetic  heart  quickly  responds.  Nevertheless  it 
should  be  said,  in  passing,  that  the  sins  of  the  rulers  were 
those  of  a  majority  of  the  people,  who,  by  first  making  the  laws 
against  the  Quakers,  and  then  consenting  to  their  enforcement, — 
upon  the  maxim  that  a  house  divided  against  itself  cannot  stand, 
—  are  the  really  guilty  objects  of  this  posthumous  arraignment. 
Endicott,  Norton,  llawson,  and  the  others  were  but  the  agents. 


CASSANDRA    SOUTHWIGK.  185 

To  construct  his  poem,  to  secure  in  advance  for  his  theme  the 
greatest  possible  sympathy,  the  poet  has  centred  our  attention 
upon  a  woman,  —  a  maiden  in  whom  fiiith  and  fortitude  are 
strongly  and  beautifully  developed,  and  who  in  the  midst  of  her 
sufferings  —  for  her  tender  back  has  felt  the  lash  —  confronts 
her  persecutors  with  the  calm  resignation  of  a  Christian  martyr 
and  the  spirit  of  a  Joan  of  Arc. 

We  cannot  help  it  if  much  of  the  glamour  thus  thrown  around 
the  legendary  tale  should  disappear  in  our  plain,  unvarnished  one. 
But  it  sliall  speak  for  itself.  Cassandra  Southwick  was  tlie  wife 
of  Laurence  Southwick,  a  citizen  of  Salem  in  the  year  1G56. 
They  were  a  grave  couple,  advanced  in  years,  and  had  three 
grown  up  children,  — ■  Provided,  a  daughter  ;  and  Josiah  and 
Daniel,  their  sons.  The  whole  family  united  with  the  Society 
of  Friends,  fell  under  suspicion,  and  were  included  in  the  per- 
secution which  resulted  in  their  being  driven  from  their  homes 
into  exile  and  death.  The  parents  being  banished  from  the 
Colony  upon  pain  of  death,  they  fled  to  Shelter  Island,  where 
they  lived  only  a  short  time,  one  dying  within  three  days'  time 
of  the  other,  and  bequeathing  the  memory  of  their  wrongs  to 
their  children. 

While  the  aged  couple  and  Josiah,  the  son,  were  languishing 
in  Boston  jail.  Provided  and  Daniel  being  left  at  home,  —  pre- 
sumably in  Avant,  since  the  cattle  and  household  goods  had 
already  been  distrained,  in  order  to  satisfy  the  fines  repeatedly 
imposed  upon  them  by  the  courts  —  these  two,  who  in  the  nar- 
rative are  called  children,  were  also  fined  ten  pounds  for  not 
attending  public  worship  at  Salem. 

To  get  this  money,  the  General  Court  sitting  at  Boston  issued 
this  order  :  — 

"Whereas  Daniel  and  Provided  Southwick,  son  and  daughter  to 
Laurence  Southwick,  have  been  fined  by  the  County  Courts  at  Salem 
and  Ipswich,  pretending  they  have  no  estates,  resolving  not  to  work ; 
and  others  likewise  have  been  fined,  and  more  [are]  like  to  be  fined, 
for  siding  with  the  Quakers,  and  absenting  themselves  from  the  public 
ordinances,  —  in  answer  to  a  question  what  course  shall  be  taken  for 


186  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

the  satisfaction  of  the  fines,  the  Court,  on  perusal  of  the  law,  title 

•  Arrests,'  resolve,  that  the  treasurers  of  the  several  counties  are,  and 
shall  hereby  be,  empowered  to  sell  the  said  persons  to  any  of  the 
English  nation  at  Virginia  or  Barbadoes." 

Joseph  Basse,  in  his  account  of  the  ali'air,  goes  on  to  state 
that,  — 

"  Pursuant  to  this  order,  Edward  Butter,  one  of  the  treasm^ers,  to 
get  something  of  the  booty,  sought  out  for  passage  to  send  them  to 
Barbadoes  for  sale  ;  but  none  were  willing  to  take  or  carry  them. 
And  a  certain  master  of  a  ship,  to  put  the  thing  ofi',  pretended  that 
they  would  spoil  all  the  ship's  company  ;   to  which  Butter  replied, 

*  No,  you  need  not  fear  that ;  for  they  are  poor,  harmless  creatures, 
and  will  not  hurt  anybody.' 

"  '  Will  they  not  so  ?'  replied  the  shipmaster  ;  '  and  will  you  offer 
to  make  slaves  of  such  harmless  creatures  V 

"  Thus  Butter,  notwithstanding  his  wicked  intention,  when  he  could 
get  no  opportunity  to  send  them  away,  the  winter  being  at  hand,  sent 
them  home  again  to  shift  for  themselves." 

This  is  the  account  that  is  followed  by  Whittier  in  "  Cassan- 
dra Southwick."  The  parents  were,  as  we  have  said,  banished. 
Josiah,  who  had  been  whipped  from  town  to  town  at  the  cart's 
tail,  fined,  imprisoned,  and  finally  banished,  went  over  to  Eng- 
land, there  to  give  testimony  against  liis  oppressors.  But  while 
neither  the  Quaker  maiden  nor  her  brother  was  actually  sold 
into  bondage,  it  was  only  a  few  months  later  that  the  former 
was  scourged  upon  the  bare  back  and  again  committed  to  prison. 

In  the  poet's  hands  these  incidents  are  woven  into  a  narra- 
tive of  deepest  pathos  and  fervor ;  and  though  the  coloring  is 
heightened,  it  will  be  observed  that  the  incidents  themselves  are 
nearly  all  true,  the  poet  having  arranged  them  to  suit  his  own 
fancy.  The  girl  lies  on  her  pallet  awaiting  the  fulfilment  of  the 
sentence  she  is  to  undergo  on  the  morrow.  Slie  stands  in  the 
market-place  in  the  presence  of  a  gaping  crowd.  She  turns  with 
withering  scorn  upon  the  minister  who  is  whispering  counsel 
or  support  into  Endicott's  ear.  Her  innocence,  her  beauty,  and 
her  sufferings  plead  for  her  in   the  hearts  of  those  who  have 


CASSANDRA   SOUTHWICK.  187 

come  to  deride,  perhaps  to  insult,  her.  One  burst  of  honest 
wrath  quickly  turns  the  scale  in  her  favor.  Xo  one  will  take 
her  away.  The  iniquitous  proceedings  are  stopped,  and  the 
Quaker  maiden  walks  away  from  the  spot  free,  as  if  by  the 
intervention  of  a  miracle. 

Slow  broke  the  gray  cold  moi'ning  ;  again  the  sunshine  fell, 
Flecked  with  the  shade  of  bar  and  grate  within  my  lonely  cell ; 
The  hoar-frost  melted  on  the  wall,  and  upward  from  the  street 
Came  careless  laugh  and  idle  word,  and  tread  of  passing  feet. 

At  length  the  heavy  bolts  fell  back,  my  door  was  open  cast. 
And  slowly  at  the  sheriff's  side,  up  the  long  street  I  passed  ; 
I  heard  the  murmur  round  me,  and  felt,  but  dared  not  see, 
How,  from  every  door  and  window,  the  people  gazed  on  me. 

And  there  were  ancient  citizens,  cloak- wrapped  and  grave  and  cold. 
And  grim  and  stout  sea-captains  with  faces  bronzed  and  old. 
And  on  his  horse,  with  Rawson,  his  cruel  clerk,  at  hand, 
Sat  dark  and  haughty  Endicott,  the  ruler  of  the  land. 

Then  to  the  stout  sea-captains  the  sheriff,  turning,  said,  — 
'  Which  of  ye,  worthy  seamen,  will  take  this  Quaker  maid  ? 
In  the  Isle  of  fair  Barbadoes,  or  on  Virginia's  shore. 
You  may  hold  her  at  a  higher  price  than  Indian  girl  or  Moor." 

A  weight  seemed  lifted  from  my  heart,— a  pitying  friend  was  nigh, 
I  felt  it  hi  bis  hard,  rough  hand,  and  saw  it  in  his  eye  ; 
And  when  again  the  sheriff'  spoke,  that  voice,  so  kind  to  me, 
Growled  back  its  stormy  answer  like  the  roaring  of  the  sea,  — 

"  Pile  my  ship  with  bars  of  silver,  — pack  with  coins  of  Spanish  gold, 
From  keel-piece  up  to  deck-plank,  the  roomage  ot  her  hold, 
By  the  living  God  who  made  me  !  —  I  would  sooner  in  your  bay 
Sink  ship  and  crew  and  cargo,  than  bear  this  child  away  !  " 

I  looked  on  haughty  Endicott ;  with  weapon  half-way  drawn, 
Swept  round  the  throng  his  lion  glare  of  bitter  hate  and  scorn  ; 
Fiercely  he  drew  his  bridle-rein,  and  turned  in  silence  back, 
And  sneering  priest  and  baffled  clerk  rode  murmuring  in  his  track. 


188  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


THE  WITCHCRAFT   TRAGEDY. 

THE  place  where  a  great  crime  lias  been  committed  has 
always  something  strangely  fascinating  about  it.  Accursed 
though  it  may  be,  repulsive  as  its  associations  generally  are,  yet 
most  people  will  go  a  greater  distance  to  see  the  locality  of  a 
murder  than  they  would  take  the  trouble  to  do  for  any  other 
purpose  whatsoever.  The  house  where  a  great  man  has  been 
born  is  often  quite  unknown  and  unvisited  even  in  its  own 
neighborhood ;  the  house  tliat  is  associated  with  a  murder  or  a 
homicide  never  is. 

Charles  Lamb  hits  the  nail  fairly  on  the  head  —  and  he 
is  speaking  not  of  New,  but  of  Old,  England  —  when  he  says 
that,  — 

"  We  are  too  hasty  when  we  set  down  our  ancestors  in  the  gross  for 
fools  for  the  monstrous  inconsistencies  (as  they  seem  to  us)  involved 
in  their  creed  of  witchcraft.  In  the  relations  of  this  visible  world  we 
find  them  to  have  been  as  rational  and  shrewd  to  detect  an  historic 
anomaly  as  ourselves.  But  when  once  the  invisible  world  was  sup- 
posed to  be  opened,  and  the  lawless  agency  of  bad  spirits  assumed, 
what  measures  of  probability,  of  decency,  of  fitness  or  proportion,  — 
of  that  which  distinguishes  the  likely  from  the  palpable  absurd,  — 
could  they  have  to  guide  them  in  the  rejection  or  admission  of  any 
particular  testimony  1  That  maidens  pined  away,  wasting  inwardly 
as  their  waxen  images  consumed  before  a  fire  ;  that  corn  was  hxlged 
and  cattle  lamed  ;  that  whirlwinds  uptore  in  diabolic  revelry  the 
oaks  of  the  forest  ;  or  that  spits  and  kettles  only  danced  a  fearful 
innocent  vagary  about  some  rustic's  kitchen  when  no  wdnd  was  stir- 
ring. —  were  all  equally  probable  where  no  law  of  agency  was  under- 
stood." 

This  is  the  judgment  of  a  keenly  analytical  and  thoughtful 
mind,  expressed  with  the  large-hearted  human  sympathy  with 


THE    WITCHCRAFT    TRAGEDY.  189 

whicli  he  was  endowed.  It  deals  with  the  universally  prevalent 
belief  in  witchcraft.  To  reinforce  this  with  the  views  of  an  able 
and  discriminating  jurist  will  not  be  deemed  out  of  place  here, 

"  We  may  lament,  then,"  says  Judge  Story  in  his  Centennial  Ad- 
dress at  Salem,  "  the  errors  of  the  times  which  led  to  these  prosecu- 
tions. But  surely  our  ancestors  had  no  special  reasons  for  shame  in 
a  belief  which  had  the  universal  sanction  of  their  own  and  all  former 
ages  ;  which  counted  in  its  train  philosophers  as  well  as  enthusiasts  ; 
which  was  graced  by  the  learning  of  prelates  as  well  as  the  counte- 
nance of  kings  ;  which  the  law  supported  by  its  mandates,  and  the 
purest  judges  felt  no  compunctions  in  enforcing.  Let  Witch  Hill 
remain  forever  memorable  by  this  sad  catastrophe,  not  to  perpetuate 
our  dishonor,  but  as  an  affecting,  enduring  proof  of  human  infamity, 
—  a  proof  that  perfect  justice  belongs  to  one  judgment-seat  only, — 
that  which  is  linked  to  the  throne  of  God." 

What  was  this  belief,  then,  which  had  such  high  moral  and 
legal  sanction  1  It  was  this,  —  That  the  Devil  might  and  did 
personally  appear  to,  enter  into,  and  actively  direct,  the  every- 
day life  of  men.  And  he  did  this  without  the  intervention  of  any 
of  those  magical  arts  or  conjurations  such  as  were  once  thought 
indispensable  to  induce  him  to  put  in  an  appearance.  For  this 
there  was  Scripture  authority,  chapter  and  verse.  He  was  sup- 
posed to  come  sometimes  in  one  form,  sometimes  in  another,  to 
tempt  his  victims  with  the  promise  that  upon  their  signing  a 
contract  to  become  his,  both  body  and  soul,  they  should  want 
for  nothing,  and  that  he  would  undertake  to  revenge  them  upon 
all  their  enemies.  The  traditional  witch  was  usually  some  de- 
crepit old  village  crone,  of  a  sour  and  malignant  temper,  who 
Avas  as  thoroughly  hated  as  feared ;  but  this  did  not  exclude  men 
from  sharing  in  the  power  of  becoming  noted  wizards,  —  though 
from  the  great  number  of  women  who  were  accused,  it  would 
appear  that  the  Arch-Enemy  usually  preferred  to  try  his  arts 
upon  the  weaker  and  more  impressible  sex.  The  fatal  compact 
was  consummated  by  the  victim  registering  his  or  her  name  in 
a  book  or  upon  a  scroll  of  parchment,  and  with  his  own  blood. 
The  form  of  these  contracts  is  nowhere  preserved.     Sometimes, 


190  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

as  is  instanced  in  the  negotiation  between  Oliver  Cromwell  and 
the  Devil  before  the  Battle  of  Worcester,  there  Avas  a  good  deal 
of  haggling.  The  bargain  being  concluded,  Satan  delivered  to 
his  new  recruit  an  imp  or  familiar  spirit,  which  sometimes  had 
the  form  of  a  cat,  at  others  of  a  mole,  of  a  bird,  of  a  miller-fly,  or 
of  some  other  insect  or  animal.  These  were  to  come  at  call,  do 
such  mischief  as  they  should  be  commanded,  and  at  stated  times 
be  permitted  to  suck  the  wizard's  blood.  Feeding,  suckling,  or  re- 
warding these  imps  was  by  the  law  of  England  declared  Felony. 

Witches,  according  to  popular  belief,  had  the  power  to  ride  at 
will  through  the  air  on  a  broomstick  or  a  spit,  to  attend  distant 
meetings  or  sabbaths  of  witches ;  but  for  this  purpose  they  must 
first  have  anointed  themselves  with  a  certain  magical  ointment 
given  to  them  by  the  Fiend.  This  is  neither  more  nor  less  than 
what  our  forefathers  believed,  what  was  solemnly  incorporated 
into  the  laws  of  the  land,  and  what  was  as  solemnly  preached 
from  the  pulpit.  A  perusal  of  the  witchcraft  examinations  shows 
us  how  familiar  even  children  of  a  tender  age  were  with  all  the 
forms  of  this  most  formidable  and  fatal,  but  yet  not  unaccount- 
able, superstition. 

In  the  course  of  those  remarkable  trials  at  Salem,  several  of 
the  accused  persons,  in  order  to  save  their  lives,  confessed  to  hav- 
ing signed  their  names  in  the  Devil's  book,  to  having  been  bap- 
tized by  him,  and  to  having  attended  midnight  meetings  of 
witches,  or  sacraments  held  upon  the  green  near  the  minister's 
house,  to  Avhich  they  came  riding  through  the  air.  They  ad- 
mitted that  he  had  sometimes  appeared  to  them  in  ihe  form  of 
a  black  dog  or  cat,  sometimes  in  tliat  of  a  horse,  and  once  as 
"  a  fine  grave  man,'  but  generally  as  a  black  man  of  severe 
aspect.  These  fables  show  the  prevalent  form  of  the  belief 
among  the  people.  It  was  generally  held  to  be  impossible  for 
a  witch  to  say  the  Lord's  Prayer  correctly ;  and  it  is  a  matter  of 
record  that  one  woman,  wliile  under  examination,  was  put  to 
this  test,  when  it  was  noticed  that  in  one  place  she  substituted 
some  words  of  her  own  for  those  of  the  prayer.  Such  a  failure 
of  memory  was  considered,  even  by  some  learned  judges,  as  a 


THE   WITCHCKAFT    TRAGEDY. 


191 


decisive  proof  of  guilt.  Even  the  trial  of  throwing  a  witch  into 
the  water,  to  see  whether  she  would  sink  or  swim,  was  once 
made  in  Connecticut. 

The  scene  of  the  witchcraft  outbreak  of  1G92  is  an  elevated 
knoll  of  no  great  extent,  rising  among  the  shaggy  hills  and 
spongy  meadows  that  lie  at  some  distance  back  from  tlie  more 
thickly  settled  part  of  the  town  of  Danvers,  Massachusetts, 
formerly  Salem  Village.  It  is  indeed  a  quiet  little  neighbor- 
hood to  have  made  so  much  noise  in  the  world.     Somehow,  en- 


THE   PARSONAGE,    SALEM   VILLAGE. 


terprise  avoids  it,  leaving  it,  as  we  see  it  to-day,  cold  and  lifeless. 
The  first  appearance  of  everything  is  so  peaceful,  so  divested  of 
all  hurry  or  excitement,  as  to  suggest  an  hereditary  calm,  —  a 
pastoral  continued  from  generation  to  generation.  Then,  as  the 
purpose  which  has  brought  him  hither  comes  into  his  mind, 
the  visitor  looks  about  him  in  doubt  whether  this  can  really 
be  the  locality  of  that  fearful  tragedy. 

Yes,  here  are  the  identical  houses  that  were  standing  when  those 
unheard-of  events  took  place,  still  solemnly  commemorating  them, 
as  if  doomed  to  stand  eternally.     This  village  street  is  the  same 


192 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


old  highway  through  which  the  dreadful  infection  spread  from 
house  to  house  unto  the  remote  corners  of  the  ancient  shire,  until, 
as  we  read,  there  were  forty  men  of  Andover  that 
could  raise  the  devil  as  well  as  any  astrologer. 
Here  too  is  the  site  of  the  old  meeting-house,  in 
which  those  amazing  scenes,  the  witchcraft  exami- 
nations, took  place.  A  little  farther  on  we  come  to 
the  spot  of  ground,  as  yet  unbuilt  upon,  where  the 
Parsonage  witli  the  lean-to  chamber  stood.  The 
sunken  outlines  of  the  cellar  are  still  to  be  seen, 
and  even  some  relics  of  the  house  itself  remain 
in  the  outbuildings  attached  to  the  "Wads worth 
mansion,  which  overlooks  the  "Witch-Ground," 
and  which  was  built  in  the  same  year  that  the 
old  Parsonage  was  pulled  down.  It  was  in  this 
"  Ministry  House,"  as  it  was  then  called,  that  the 
circle  of  young  girls  met,  whose  denunciations, 
equivalent  to  the  death-warrant  of  the  accused 
person,  soon  overspread  the  land  with  desolation 
and  woe  ;  and  it  was  here  that  the  alleged 
midnight  convocations  of  witches  met  to  celebrate 
their  unholy  sacraments,  and  to  renew  their  sol- 
emn league  and  covenant  with  Satan,  in  draughts 
of  blood,  and  by  inscribing  their  names  in  his 
fatal  book. 
It  makes  one  sick  at  heart  to  think  of  a  child  only  eleven 
years  old,  such  as  Abigail  Williams  was,  taking  away  the 
lives  of  men  and  women  who  had  always  borne  unblemished 
reputations  among  their  friends  and  neighbors,  by  identifying 
them  as  having  attended  these  meetings,  and  of  having  hurt 
this  or  that  person.  These  poor  creatures  could  scarcely  under- 
stand that  they  were  seriously  accused  by  one  so  young  of  a 
crime  made  capital  by  the  law.  But  their  doubts  were  soon 
removed.  Once  they  were  accused,  every  man's  hand  Avas 
against  them.  Children  testified  against  their  own  parents, 
liusbands   against   tlieir  wives,   wives  against   their  husbands, 


USED   BY 

JACOBS    Willis 

GOING   TO 

EXECUTION. 


THE   WITCHCRAFT    TRAGEDY.  193 

neighbor  against  neighbor.  One's  blood  alternately  boils  and 
freezes  while  reading  the  damning  evidence  of  the  record  to  the 
fatal  infatuation  of  the  judges,  to  their  travesty  of  justice,  to  their 
pitiless  persecution  of  the  prisoners  at  the  bar,  and  to  the  over- 
mastering terror  that  silenced  the  voice  of  humanity  in  this 
stricken  community.  Panic  reigned  everywhere  supreme.  It  is 
an  amazing  history ;  but,  incredible  as  it  seems,  it  is  yet  all  true. 
Would  that  it  were  not ! 

The  main  features  of  these  trials  are  so  familiar  to  all,  that  it 
will  only  be  necessary  to  refer  to  the  fact  that  some  hundreds 
of  innocent  persons  were  thrown  into  prison,  while  twenty  were 
barbarously  executed,  at  the  instance  of  some  young  girls  of  the 
Village,  who  went  into  violent  convulsions,  real  or  pretended,  as 
soon  as  they  were  confronted  with  the  prisoners  at  the  bar.  The 
convictions  were  had  upon  "  spectre  "  evidence,  —  that  is  to  say, 
the  strange  antics  of  the  possessed  girls  were  considered  as  proof 
positive  of  the  criminal  power  of  witchcraft  in  the  accused,  — 
shown  too  in  open  court,  —  with  which  they  stood  charged.  The 
statute  assumed  that  this  power  could  only  proceed  from  a  famil- 
iarity or  compact  with  the  Evil  One,  and  punished  it  with  death. 
The  evidence,  however,  was  of  two  kinds.  When  interrogated 
by  the  magistrates,  the  girls  first  gave  their  evidence  calmly, 
like  ordinary  witnesses  to  the  criminal  acts,  and  then  Avent  into 
their  spasms,  which  all  believed  were  caused  by  the  prisoners. 
Their  incoherent  ravings  and  outcries  were  also  taken  as  good 
and  valid  testimony,  and  are  so  recorded. 

These  remarkable  proceedings  are  not,  however,  without  a 
precedent.  The  tragical  story  of  XJrbain  Grandier  develops  the 
same  characteristics.  His  popularity  as  a  preacher  having  ex- 
cited the  envy  of  the  monks,  they  instigated  some  nuns  to  play 
the  part  of  persons  possessed,  and  in  their  conviQsions  to  charge 
Grandier  with  being  the  cause  of  their  evil  visitation.  This 
horrible  though  absurd  charge  was  sanctioned  by  Cardinal 
Eichelieu  on  grounds  of  personal  dislike.  Grandier  was  tried, 
condemned,  and  burnt  alive,  April  18,  1634,  more  than  half 
a  century  earlier  than  the  proceedings  occurring  at  Salem, 
13 


194  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

Though  humanity  may  well  revolt  at  the  explanation,  the  theory 
of  imposture,  pure  and  simple,  begun  and  maintained  by  these 
girls  of  Salem  Village,  is  the  one  we  turn  from  in  dismay  as  a 
thing  not  indeed  proved,  or  even  admitted,  but  as  a  haunting 
probability  that  will  not  down  at  our  bidding. 


GILES   COREY,   THE  WIZARD. 

UNDOUBTEDLY  tlie  most  dramatic  incident  of  this  carni- 
val of  death  was  the  trial  and  execution  of  Giles  Corey, 
Avlio,  seeing  the  fate  of  all  those  who  had  preceded  him,  stub- 
bornly refused  to  plead  ;  and,  to  vindicate  the  majesty  of  the  law 
he  had  thus  defied,  he  was  condemned  to  the  atrocious  peine  forte 
et  dure  of  the  Dark  Ages.  The  incredible  sentence  was  carried 
out  to  the  letter ;  and  this  miserable  prisoner,  while  yet  a  liv- 
ing and  breatliing  man,  was  actually  crushed  to  death  under 
the  pressure  of  heavy  weights.  This  is  the  only  instance  of 
such  a  punishment  being  inflicted  in  New  England.  We 
shudder  to  record  it. 

Until  the  appearance  of  Mr.  Longfellow's  "New  England 
Tragedies,"  there  had  been  no  serious  attempt  to  make  use  of 
this  sinister  chapter  for  any  other  purpose  than  that  of  impartial 
history.  Poets  and  novehsts  seem  alike  to  have  shunned  it. 
The  man  to  whom  all  eyes  would  naturally  be  turned,  Avas  de- 
scended from  one  of  the  most  implacable  of  the  judges,  —  the 
one,  in  fact,  who  had  delivered  the  horrible  sentence  of  the  court 
in  the  case  of  Giles  Corey.  In  the  dramatic  version  the  poet 
makes  him  say  : — 

Ghosts  of  the  dead  and  voices  of  the  living 
Bear  witness  to  your  guilt,  and  you  must  die  ! 
It  might  have  been  an  easier  death  ;  your  doom 
Will  be  on  your  own  bead,  and  not  on  ours. 
Twice  more  will  you  be  questioned  of  these  things, 
Twice  more  have  room  to  plead  or  to  confess. 


GILES    COREY,   THE   WIZARD.  195 

If  you  are  contumacious  to  the  Court, 
And  if  when  questioned  you  refuse  to  answer,  , 
Then  by  the  statute  you  will  be  condemned 
To  the  peine  forte  et  dure !  —  to  have  your  body 
Pressed  by  great  weights  until  you  shall  be  dead  ! 
And  may  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  your  soul ! 

Owing  to  the  prisoner's  indomitable  attitude  before  his  judges, 
but  few  incidents  of  this  extraordinary  trial,  or  mockery  of  one, 
remain.  The  heroic  figure  of  this  old  man  of  eighty  confront- 
ing judges  and  accusers  in  stoical  silence  is,  however,  unique  in 
its  grandeur.  From  this  moment  he  becomes  their  peer.  Even 
the  poet's  art  could  add  nothing  to  the  simple  recital  of  the  elo- 
quent fact.  But  such  an  act  of  subhme  heroism  is  also  deeply 
pathetic.  Neither  the  anathema  of  the  Church,  the  doom  pro- 
nounced upon  the  wife  of  his  bosom,  the  solemn  warnings  of 
his  judges,  thrice  repeated,  nor  the  prospect  of  an  ignominious 
death  could  unseal  the  lips  of  old  Giles  Corey,  obscure  husband- 
man though  he  was.  This  amazing  fortitude  wrung  from  his 
enemies  the  title  of  the  Man  of  Iron.  His  was  one  of  the  last 
of  the  murders  committed  in  the  name  of  the  law,  and  with  him 
was  thus  crushed  out  the  delusion  of  which  he  unquestionably 
was  the  most  remarkable  victim. 

The  anonymous  baUad,  written  in  the  old  manner,  and  in  an 
ironical  vein,  perpetuates  the  cruel  history  as  concisely  and  as. 
truthfully  as  the  prose  accounts  do  :  — 

Giles  Corey  was  a  Wizzard  strong, 

A  stubborn  wretch  was  he  ; 
And  fitt  was  he  to  hang  on  high 

Upon  the  Locust-tree. 

So  when  before  the  magistrates 

For  triall  he  did  come, 
He  would  no  true  confession  make, 

But  was  compleatlie  dumbe. 


196  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

"  Giles  Corey,"  said  the  Magistrate, 
"  What  hast  thou  heare  to  pleade 

To  these  that  now  accuse  thy  soule 
Of  crimes  and  horrid  deed  ?  " 

Giles  Corey,  he  said  not  a  worde, 

No  single  worde  spoke  he. 
"  Giles  Corey,"  saith  the  I\Iagistrate, 

"  We  "U  press  it  out  of  thee." 

They  got  them  then  a  heavy  beam, 

They  laid  it  on  his  breast ; 
They  loaded  it  with  heavy  stones, 

And  hard  upon  him  prest. 

*'  More  weight !  "  now  said  this  wretched  man  ; 

"  More  weight !  "  again  he  cried  ; 
And  he  did  no  confession  make, 

But  wickedly  he  dyed. 

The  tradition  was  long  current  in  Salem  that  at  stated  periods 
the  ghost  of  Corey  the  hazard  appeared  on  the  spot  where  he 
had  suffered,  as  the  precursor  of  some  calamity  that  was  impend- 
ing over  the  community,  which  the  apparition  came  to  announce. 
His  shade,  however,  has  long  since  ceased  to  revisit  "the  glimpses 
of  the  moon,"  and  to  do  duty  as  a  bugbear  to  frighten  unruly 
children  into  obedience  ;  but  the  memory  of  this  darkest  deed 
in  New  England's  annals  is  a  phantom  that  will  not  be  laid. 


THE  BELL   TAVERN   MYSTERY. 

TI I  ]•:  Bell  Tavern  was  a  house  for  the  entertainment  of  man 
and  beast  situated  in  the  town  of  Danvers,  fronting  the 
highroad  running  through  the  village,  and  thus  connecting 
its  movement  and  its  events  with  the  rest  of  the  world.     So 


THE  BELL  TAVERN  MYSTERY.  197 

long  ago  as  it  was  the  King's  own  highway,  this  road  was  the 
great  artery  of  New  England,  through  which  the  blood  of  its 
commerce,  so  to  speak,  flowed  to  and  from  the  heart  of  its 
capital,  Boston.  Boston  Stone  was  then  the  central  viilliarium 
from  which  the  diverging  sections  ran  north  and  ran  south  into 
the  most  remote  parts  of  the  Colonies,  —  on  the  south  to  the 
Carolinas,  and  to  the  Kennebec  settlements  on  the  north.  The 
Bell  Tavern,  being  therefore  exactly  in  the  great  current  of  travel 
as  well  as  of  events,  has  naturally  a  history  of  its  own. 

The  sign  of  the  tavern  was  a  wooden  bell,  suspended  to  the 
crossbeam  of  a  post  before  the  door,  with  this  couplet  under- 
neath :  — 

I  '11  toll  you  in  if  you  have  need, 
And  feed  you  well  and  bid  you  speed. 

When  the  reader  knows  that  within  the  limits  of  Danvers, 
while  it  was  yet  a  precinct  of  Salem,  the  witchcraft  tragedies 
were  enacted;  that  General  Israel  Putnam  was  born  here  ;  that  on 
its  borders  is  the  remarkable  natural  curiosity  known  as  Ship 
Rock  ;  and  that  it  is  the  usual  residence  of  the  venerable  poet  and 
philanthropist,  Whittier,  —  he  will  see  so  many  reasons  for  spend- 
ing some  hours  in  the  place,  should  he  ever  chance  to  be  in  the 
neighborhood.  But  he  will  no  longer  find  the  Bell  Tavern 
there.  That  has  disappeared,  although  its  traditions  are  still 
most  scrupulously  preserved.     Let  us  recount  one  of  them. 

The  Bell  was  for  some  time  the  residence  of  Elizabeth 
Whitman,  whose  singular  story,  under  the  fictitious  name  of 
Eliza  Wharton,  excited,  forty  odd  years  ago,  the  sensibilities  of 
thousands.  In  this  house  she  died ;  and  such  was  the  desire  of 
many  to  obtain  some  memento  of  her,  that  even  the  stqpes 
erected  over  her  grave  were  near  being  carried  away  piecemeal. 
When  I  last  visited  the  spot  where  she  lies,  the  path  leading 
to  it  was,  to  judge  from  appearances,  the  one  in  the  old  ground 
oftenest  traversed.  This  is  not  strange,  for  even  in  winter,  after 
a  heavy  fall  of  snow,  the  path  has  been  kept  open  by  the  feet  of 
the  morbidly  curious.     I  expected  to  read  upon  the  headstone 


198  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

the  words,  "  Good  people,  pray  for  her,  she  died  for  love."  But, 
as  I  have  said,  the  stone  had  been  carried  otf  nearly  entire.  The 
foHowing  letter,  found  after  her  death  among  her  effects,  is, 
however,  at  once  the  history  and  the  epitaph  of  this  most  bril- 
liant and  gifted,  yet  most  unfortunate,  of  beings.  After  reading 
it,  let  him  who  is  without  sin  cast  the  first  stone  upon  her 
memory  :  — 

"  Must  I  die  alone  1  Shall  I  never  see  you  more  1  I  know  that 
you  will  come,  but  you  will  come  too  late.  This  is,  I  fear,  my  last 
ability.  Tears  fall  so,  I  know  not  how  to  write.  Why  did  you  leave 
me  in  so  much  distress  ?  But  I  will  not  reproach  you.  All  that  Avas 
dear  I  left  for  you  ;  but  I  do  not  regret  it.  May  God  forgive  in  both 
what  was  amiss.  When  I  go  from  hence,  I  will  leave  you  some  way 
to  find  me  ;  if  I  die,  wiU  you  come  and  drop  a  tear  over  my  grave  1 " 

In  the  month  of  June,  1788,  a  chaise  in  which  were  two 
persons,  a  man  and  a  woman,  stopped  at  the  door  of  the  Bell 
Tavern.  The  woman  alighted  and  entered  the  house.  Her 
companion  immediately  drove  off,  and  was  never  again  seen  in 
the  village.  It  may  be  easily  guessed  that  the  very  last  place 
for  seclusion  or  mystery  was  a  New  England  village  of  a  hun- 
dred years  ago,  since  the  entire  population  regarded  even  the 
presence  among  them  of  an  unknown  person  Avith  suspicion; 
while  any  attempt  at  mystification  was  in  effect  a  spur  to  the 
curiosity  of  every  idle  gossip,  far  and  near.  In  self-protection 
the  laws  of  hospitality  as  to  the  stranger  were  reversed.  To  this 
spirit  of  exclusiveuess  we  doubtless  owe  the  national  trait  of  in- 
quisitiveness  so  often  ascribed  to  us.  Such,  however,  Avas  the 
spirit  of  the  laAvs  under  which  these  communities  had  grown  up. 
It  is  true  that  the  stranger  was  not  required  to  shoAV  his  pass- 
port; but  as  he  valued  his  own  ease,  on  no  account  must  he 
betray  any  reticence  concerning  himself  or  his  affairs.  At  the 
entrance  of  each  village,  as  one  might  say,  an  invisible  but 
Avatchful  sentinel  cried  out :  "  Who  comes  there  1 "  Should  the 
stranger  happen  to  have  his  secret  to  guard,  so  much  the  Avorse 
for  him. 


THE    BELL    TAVERN    MYSTERY. 


199 


The  unknown  guest  of  tlie  Bell  — about  whom  everything  — 
her  beauty,  grace  of  manner  and  address,  announced  her  to 
be  a  person  accustomed  to  the  society  of  people  above  the 
ordinary  condition  of  life  —  desired  most  of  all  to  be  unno- 
ticed and  unmolested.  She  desired  this  for  peculiar  reasons. 
Each  day  her  life  steadily  darkened ;  every  hour  was  bring- 
ing her  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  crisis  of  her  destiny ;  every 
moment  was  an  hour  of  terror  and  remorse.  It  was  necessary, 
however,  to  give  some  account  of  herself,  or  else  suspicion  and 
calumny  would  soon  be  busy  with  her  reputation.     She  there- 


TUE    BELL,    FROM    AN    OLD   PRINT. 


fore  represented  that  she  was  married,  and  that  her  husband 
would  soon  join  her.  To  help  her  story  —  for  she,  poor  soul, 
fancied  that  the  thin  stratagem  would  make  all  seem  right  —  she 
laid  a  letter,  written  and  addressed  by  herself,  upon  her  table, 
where  her  inquisitive  neighbors  would  be  certain  to  see  and 
to  read  the  superscription.  Her  days  were  passed  at  the  window 
watching  for  some  one  who  did  not  come.  One  easily  imagines 
what  her  nights  must  have  been.  Once  a  man  who  went 
through  the  village  was  observed  to  stop  before  the  tavern  and 
attentively  read  the  name  that  the  "  beautiful  strange  lady  "  had 


200  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

written  on  her  door  as  a  means  of  recognition.  But  "when  he 
passed  on  without  entering  the  house,  she  was  heard  to  exclaim, 
"Oh,  I  am  undone  !" 

It  will  be  suj^posed  that  the  mysterious  recluse  of  the  Bell 
Tavern  soon  became  the  object  of  intense  curiosity  to  the  people 
of  the  village.  They  saw  her  sitting  at  her  window,  sometimes 
whiling  away  the  heavy  hours  with  her  guitar,  or  else  busily 
plying  her  needle  "  in  a  mournful  muse."  When  she  went  out, 
old  and  young,  attracted  by  her  graceful  form  and  presence, 
turned  to  look  after  her  as  she  walked.  But  as  the  months 
wore  on,  the  secret  motive  for  her  seclusion  could  no  longer  be 
concealed.  Yet  the  one  whose  coming  was  the  single  hope  left 
to  her  despairing  soul  abandoned  her  to  bear  all  the  odium  of 
her  situation  alone.  In  this  hour  of  bitterest  trial  —  of  two- 
fold desertion  and  danger  —  she  found,  however,  one  sympa- 
thizing and  womanly  heart  courageous  enough  to  take  the 
friendless,  forlorn  Elizabeth  into  her  own  home  and  to  nurse 
her  tenderly.  There  this  wretched  mother  gave  birth  to  a  dead 
infant,  and  there,  after  a  short  illness,  she  died.  The  letter  with 
which  this  sad  story  is  prefaced  was  doubtless  penned  upon  her 
death-bed ;  yet  in  this  hour  of  agony  she,  with  rare  fidelity,  pre- 
served the  incognito  of  her  heartless  lover  to  the  last  ;  and  what 
is  rarer  still,  granted  him,  from  her  soul,  a  full  and  free  pardon 
for  the  sacrifice  of  her  honor  and  life.  But  this  pardon  should 
have  been  his  perpetual  remorse.  These  are  the  closing  lines  of 
some  verses  the  poor  girl  destined  for  his  eye.  It  will  be  seen 
that  her  last  words  were  those  of  forgiveness  and  undying  love  :  — 

0  thou  !  for  whose  dear  sake  I  bear 
A  doom  so  dreadful,  so  severe, 
May  happy  fates  tby  footsteps  guide, 
And  o'er  thy  peaceful  home  preside. 

Nor  let  E a's  early  tomb 

Infect  thee  with  its  baleful  gloom." 

An  unknown  hand  erected  a  stone  over  her  grave  with  this 
inscription  :  — 


THE    BELL    TAVEEN    MYSTERY. 


201 


"  This  humble  stone,  in  memory  of  Elizabeth  Whitman,  is  inscribed 
by  her  weeping  friends,  to  whom  she  endeared  herself  by  uncommon 
tenderness  and  affection.  Endowed  with  superior  genius  and  acquire- 
ments, she  was  still  more  endeared  by  humility  and  benevolence. 
Let  candor  throw  a  veil  over  her  frailties,  for  great  was  her  charity 
to  others.  She  sustained  the  last  painful  scene  far  from  every  friend, 
and  exhibited  an  example  of  calm  resignation.  Her  departure  was 
on  the  25th  of  July,  a.  d.  1788,  in  the  37th  year  of  her  age,  and  the 
tears  of  strangers  watered  her  grave." 


One  would  only  wish  to  add  to  this 
hut  too  well." 


She  "  loved,  not  wisely, 


MAEBLEHEAD    LEGENDS. 


3,  ^'^ 


ENDICOTT's   sun-dial;    designs   from  old   M.ONEI. 


MARBLEHEAD:   THE  TOWN. 

nVTEXT  to  Swainpscott  comes  Marblehead.  Quaintest  and 
JN  most  dilapidated  of  seaports,  one  can  hardly  knock  at 
any  door  without  encountering  a  legend  or  a  history.  Indeed 
that  idea  comes  uppermost  on  looking  around  you.  Yet  the 
atmosphere  is  not  oppressive,  nor  are  the  suggestions  ghostly. 
Far  otherwise  ;  you  are  simply  on  the  tiptoe  of  expectation. 

Thanks  to  fortuitous  causes,  Marblehead  retains  more  of  the 
characteristic  flavor  of  the  past  than  any  town  in  New  England. 
And  here  one  can  revel  in  its  memories  unchecked,  seeing  so 
little  to  remind  him  of  the  present.  Look  at  the  great  body  of 
old  houses  still  composing  it !  There  is  no  mistaking  the  era  to 
which  they  belong.  Once  among  them,  one  takes  a  long  stride 
backward  into  another  century,  and  is  even  doubtful  if  he  should 
stop  there.  They  are  as  antiquated  as  the  garments  our  great- 
grandfathers wore,  and  as  little  in  accord  with  modern  ideas ;  and 
yet  they  were  very  comfortable  dwellings  in  their  day,  and  have 
even  now  a  home-like  look  of  soHd,  though  unpretending,  thrift. 
They  in  fact  indicate  a  republic  of  equality,  if  not  one  of  high 
social  or  intellectual  refinement.  We  expect  to  see  sailors  m 
pigtails,  citizens  in  periwigs,  and  women  in  kerchiefs  and  hobnad 
shoes,  all  speaking  an  unintelligible  jargon,  and  all  laying  violent 


206  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

tongues  on  the  King's  English.  We  are  conscious  of  a  certain  in- 
congruity between  ourselves  and  this  democracy,  which  is  not  at 
all  disagreeable  to  us,  nor  disparaging  to  that. 

They  have  covered  a  bare  and  uncouth  cluster  of  gray  ledges 
with  houses,  and  called  it  Marblehead.  These  ledges  stick  out 
everywhere ;  there  is  not  enough  soil  to  cover  them  decently. 
The  original  gullies  intersecting  these  ledges  were  turned  into 
thoroughfares,  which  meander  about  after  a  most  lawless  and 
inscrutable  fashion.  The  principal  graveyard  is  situated  on  the 
top  of  a  rocky  hill,  where  the  dead  mariners  might  lie  within 
sound  of  the  sea  they  loved  so  well.  And  we  learn  that  it  was 
chosen  because  it  was  a  "  sightly  place."  But  in  general  the 
dead  fare  no  better  than  the  living,  they  being  tucked  away  in 
odd  corners,  here  on  a  hill-top,  there  in  a  hollow,  the  headstones 
seeming  always  a  part  of  the  ledges  above  which  they  rise  in 
straggling  groups,  stark,  gray,  and  bent  with  age,  intensifying 
a  thousand-fold  the  pervading  feeling  of  sadness  and  loneliness 
associated  with  such  places. 

One  street  carries  us  along  with  the  present ;  the  other  whisks 
us  back  into  the  past  again.  We  dive  into  a  lane,  and  bring  up 
in  a  blind  alley  without  egress.  Does  any  one  know  the  way 
here,  we  question  1  We  see  a  crooked  crack  separating  rows  of 
houses,  and  then  read  on  a  signboard  that  it  is  such  or  such  a 
street.  In  an  hour  we  look  upon  the  Avhole  topography  of  the 
place  as  a  jest. 

Now  and  then  the  mansion  of  some  Colonial  nabob  —  perhaps 
a  colonel  or  a  magistrate  —  has  secured  for  itself  a  little  breath- 
ing space ;  but  in  general  the  houses  crowd  upon  and  elbow  each 
other  in  "  most  admired  disorder."  The  wonder  is  that  they 
built  here  at  all,  the  site  was  so  unpromising ;  but  the  harbor  was 
good,  there  was  room  to  dry  fish,  and  the  sailor-settlers  looked 
upon  the  sea,  and  not  the  shore,  as  being  their  home.  So  that 
Allerton's  rough  fellows,  who  in  1633  made  their  rude  cabins  on 
the  harbor's  edge,  were  not  looking  for  farms,  but  for  codfish. 

After  looking  over  the  town  a  while,  one  comes  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  the  fir.st-comers  must  have  tossed  up  coppers  —  always 


MARBLEHEAD-   THE   TOWN.  207 

a  favorite  pastime  here  —  for  the  choice  of  buikling-lots,  and 
then  have  made  their  selection  regardless  of  surveyor's  lines. 
As  a  consequence,  Marblehead  is  picturesque,  but  bewildering. 
It  has  a  placid  little  harbor,  indented  by  miniature  coves,  lighted 
by  a  diminutive  hghthouse,  and  defended  by  a  dismantled  fort- 
ress without  a  garrison.  Blindfold  a  stranger,  bring  him  to 
Marblehead,  and  then  remove  the  bandage,  and  he  would  cer- 
tainly exclaim,  "  This  is  in  the  Orkneys,  or  the  Hebrides  !  " 

This  is  what  a  glance  reveals.  We  have  said  that  nearly 
every  dwelling  has  its  story.  It  is  probable  that  no  other 
spot  of  ground  in  the  Colonies  Avas  so  pecuharly  adapted  to 
the  growth  of  the  marvellous  as  this.  The  men,  and  the  boys 
too,  as  soon  as  they  were  able  to  handle  an  oar,  followed  the  sea, 
while  the  women  did  most  of  the  shore  work,  taking  care  of 
and  curing  the  fish,  as  they  do  to-day  in  Newfoundland.  So 
that  in  the  fishing  season  the  place  was  nearly  as  destitute  of 
men  as  the  fabulous  island  that  good  old  Peter  Martyr  tells  about 
in  his  wonderful  "  Decades."  That  good  and  true  man,  the  Rev- 
erend John  Barnard,  the  patriarch  and  good  genius  of  the  place, 
tells  us  that  when  he  first  went  to  Marblehead  there  was  no  such 
thing  as  a  proper  carpenter,  or  mason,  or  tailor,  or  butcher  in 
the  place  ;  all  were  fishermen.  And  this  was  seventy  or  eighty 
years  after  settlement  began  here.  For  half  a  century  there 
was  no  settled  minister  ;  and  for  about  the  same  term  of  years 
no  schoolmaster.  To  this  day  no  one  knows  the  antecedents 
of  these  fishermen,  or  from  whence  they  came.  Certain  it  is 
that  they  were  no  part  of  the  Puritan  emigration  around  them ; 
for  all  accounts  agree  in  styling  them  a  rude,  ignorant,  lawless, 
and  profligate  set,  squandering  with  habitual  recklessness  the 
gains  of  each  hazardous  voyage.  Notorious  pirates  openly  Avalked 
the  streets  ;  smuggling  was  carried  on  like  any  legitimate  occupa- 
tion. In  a  word,  a  community  going  back  to  as  early  a  day 
as  any  here  had  grown  up  in  the  same  way  that  the  fishing- 
stations  of  Newfoundland  were  gradually  turned  into  permanent 
settlements,  having  almost  no  law  and  even  less  religion,  until  a 
missionary  appeared  in  the  person  of  the  Reverend  John  Barnard. 


208  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

The  history  then  changes.  In  respect  to  public  and  private 
morals,  Marblehead  was  really  a  little  Newfoundland ,  and  it  is 
more  than  probable,  everything  being  considered,  that  its  settle- 
ment may  be  legitimately  referred  to  this  island,  — the  home  of 
a  strictly  seafaring  and  sea-subsisting  people,  living  half  of  the 
time  afloat,  and  half  on  shore. 

As  for  the  women,  when  we  read  that  on  a  certain  Sabbath-day 
two  hostile  Indians,  then  held  as  prisoners  in  the  town,  were 
"  by  the  women  of  Marblehead,  as  they  came  out  of  the  meeting- 
house," tumultuously  set  upon  and  very  barbarously  murdered, 
one  easily  imagines  what  the  men  were  like,  —  and  the  children 
too,  of  whom  it  is  soberly  said  that  they  were  as  profane  as  their 
fathers.  When  a  stranger  appeared  in  the  streets  they  were  in 
the  habit  of  pelting  him  with  stones.  AU  this  prepares  us 
for  the  appearance  of  John  and  Mary  Dimond  as  the  legitimate 
outgrowth  of  such  a  place,  and  for  those  singular  customs,  and 
the  still  more  singular  speech,  which  two  centuries  could  not 
wholly  eradicate.  Marblehead,  it  is  quite  clear,  was  neither 
part  nor  parcel  of  the  Puritan  Commonwealth  in  any  strict 
sense  of  the  term.     It  was  and  is  unique. 

Apropos  of  this  state  of  society,  although  they  may  put  the 
reader's  credulity  to  a  harder  test  than  is  usual,  let  us  give  one 
or  two  examples  of  olden  superstition,  in  order  to  place  him 
more  or  less  in  accord  with  the  spirit  of  the  times  to  which  our 
poets  and  our  novelists  have  given  so  much  attention.  It  will 
readily  be  seen  that  there  is  little  need  to  have  recourse  to  the 
imagination  ;  truth  is  indeed  stranger  than  fiction. 

The  belief  that  it  is  a  good  omen  to  see  the  new  moon  over 
one's  right  shoulder  is  still  universal.  Yet  this  is  merely  a  relic 
of  ancient  superstition,  although  few,  perhaps,  would  be  willing 
to  admit  that  it  had  any  influence,  either  direct  or  indirect,  upon 
their  future  welfare.  But  our  forefathers  thought  otherwise. 
Among  the  early  chronicles  of  Lynn  is  one  giving  an  account  of 
"  an  honest  old  man  "  who,  "  as  it  began  to  be  darkish,"  went 
out  to  look  for  the  new  moon,  when  he  espied  in  the  Avest 
a  strange  black  cloud,  in  which  presently  appeared  a  complete 


makblehead:  the  town.  209 

man-at-arms,  standing  with  liis  legs  a  little  apart,  and  holding 
his  pike  thrown  across  his  breast  in  a  most  martial  attitude. 
The  man  then  called  his  wife  and  others  to  behold  this  marvel. 
After  a  while  the  man  in  the  cloud  vanished ;  but  he  was  imme- 
diately succeeded  by  the  apparition  of  a  stately  ship  under  full 
sail,  although  she  remained  stationary  in  the  heavens.  The 
black  hull,  the  lofty  stern,  the  brightly  gleaming  sails,  the  taper- 
ing mast,  from  which  a  long  resplendent  pennon  streamed,  were 
as°pkinly  distinguished  as  were  those  of  the  ships  then  riding  in 
the  harbor.  "  This,"  in  the  words  of  the  narrative,  "was  seen 
for  a  great  space,  both  by  these  and  others  of  ye  same  town." 

The  good  old  English  custom  of  saluting  the  new  moon  with 
the  following  propitiatory  address,  to  which  the  "pale  goddess" 
was  supposed  to  give  ear,  — 

All  bail  to  the  Moon!  all  hail  to  thee  ! 
I  prythee,  good  Moon,  reveal  to  me 
This  night  who  my  husband  must  be,  — 

had  its  counterpart  in  Marblehead,  where,  on  the  nights  when  a 
new  moon  was  to  appear,  the  unmarried  young  women  would 
congregate  at  some  houses  in  the  neighborhood  for  the  purpose 
of  having  a  peep  into  futurity  ;  and  after  hanging  a  huge  pot  of 
tallow  on  the  crane  over  the  blazing  logs,  would  then  drop,  one 
by  one,  iron  hob-nails  into  the  boiling  fat,  in  the  firm  belief  that 
the  young  man  who  should  come  in  while  this  charm  was  work- 
ing would  inevitably  be  the  future  husband  of  the  fair  one  who 
dropped  the  nails. 

At  other  times  the  young  woman  who  had  a  longing  to  pry  into 
the  unknown  would  go  to  an  upper  window  of  the  house,  and 
when  no  one  saw  her  would  throw  a  ball  of  yarn  into  the  street, 
in  the  belief  that  the  lucky  youth  who  first  picked  it  up  was  the 
man  she  would  marry.  All  the  terrors  of  the  laws  against  it  could 
not  prevent  women  from  trying  the  efacacy  of  magical  art  in  elu- 
cidating the,  to  them,  most  interesting  of  all  questions.  In  those 
"  good  old  times  "  a  wedding  was  a  season  of  unrestrained  merry- 
making for  a  whole  week  together.  Little  ceremony  was  used. 
14 


210  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Everybody  who  cliose  might  attend,  and  when,  at  a  late  hoar,  the 
guests  were  ready  to  depart,  the  bride  and  groom  being  first  put 
to  bed,  the  entire  company,  regardless  of  the  blushes  or  screams  of 
the  bride,  marched  round  the  nuptial  couch,  throwing  old  slioes, 
stockings,  and  other  missiles  of  established  potency  in  such  cases, 
at  the  newly  wedded  couple,  by  way  of  bringing  them  good  luck. 

"  Stories  of  phantom  ships  seen  at  sea  before  the  loss  of  a  ves- 
sel, of  the  appearance  on  the  water  of  loved  ones  who  had  died 
at  home,  of  footsteps  and  voices  heard  mysteriously  in  the  still 
hours  of  the  night  and  coming  as  warnings  from  another  world, 
of  signs  and  omens  which  foretold  the  approaching  death  of 
some  member  of  the  family,  or  prophecies  whispered  by  the 
winds,  that  those  who  were  away  on  the  mighty  deep  would  find 
a  watery  grave,"  were  interwoven  with,  and  allowed  to  have  an 
active  influence  upon,  the  lives  of  these  people. 

Such  a  place  would  as  a  matter  of  course  have  its  part  in  the 
"Terror"  of  1692,  — the  fatal  witchcraft  delusion.  The  witch 
of  Marblehead  was  an  old  crone  by  the  name  of  Wilmot  Eedd 
(or  Eeed),  but  more  generally  known  and  feared  as  "  Mammy 
Redd,  the  witch."  This  woman  was  believed  to  possess  the 
power  of  malignant  touch  and  sight,  and  she  was  able,  so  it  was 
whispered,  to  cast  a  spell  over  those  whom  she  might  in  her  ma- 
levolence wish  to  injure.  To  some  she  sent  sickness  and  death, 
by  merely  wishing  that  a  "  bloody  cleaver  "  might  be  found  in 
the  cradle  of  their  infant  children.  Upon  others  she  vented  her 
spite  by  visiting  them  with  such  petty  annoyances  as  occur  — 

When  brass  and  pewter  hap  to  stray. 
And  linen  slinks  out  of  the  way ; 
When  geese  and  pullen  are  seduced, 
And  sows  of  sucking  pigs  are  choused  ; 
When  cattle  feel  indisposition. 
And  need  the  opinioa  of  physician  ; 
When  murrain  reigns  in  hogs  or  sheep. 
And  chickens  languish  of  the  pip ", 
When  yeast  and  outward  means  do  fail, 
And  liave  no  power  to  work  on  ale  ; 
When  butter  does  refuse  to  come, 
A.nd  love  proves  cross  and  huniorsonie. 


THE   SHRIEKING   WOMAN.  211 

Among  other  diabolical  arts,  — 

Old  Mammy  Redd, 
Of  Marblebead, 
Sweet  milk  could  turn 
To  mould  in  churn. 

She  could  curdle  it  as  it  came  fresh  from  the  cow's  udders, 
or  could  presently  change  it  into  "blue  wool,"  which  we  take  to 
be  another  name  for  blue  mould.  She  was  tried  and  convicted, 
chiefly  on  old  wives'  gabble,  and  expiated  on  the  gallows  the 
evil  fame  that  she  had  acquired. 

To  this  fact  of  history,  in  which  the  actors  appear  testifying 
under  oath  to  their  own  superstitious  beliefs,  we  may  now 
add  one  of  those  local  legends  undoubtedly  growing  out  of  the 
frequent  intercourse  had  with  the  free  rovers  of  the  main. 
Among  these  freebooters  it  was  a  law,  the  cruel  policy  of  which 
is  obvious,  that  every  woman  who  might  become  their  prisoner 
should  suffer  death.  The  legend  is  perhaps  no  more  than  the 
echo  of  one  of  these  tragedies. 


THE   SHRIEKING  WOMAN. 

IT  was  said  that  during  the  latter  part  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  a  Spanish  ship  laden  with  rich  merchandise  w^as 
captured  by  pirates,  who  brought  their  prize  into  the  Harbor  of 
Alarblehead.  The  crew  and  every  person  on  board  the  ill-fated 
ship  had  been  butchered  in  cold  blood  at  the  time  of  the  cap- 
ture, except  a  beautiful  English  lady,  whom  the  ruffians  brought 
on  shore  near  what  is  now  called  Oakum  Bay,  and  there,  under 
cover  of  the  night,  most  barbarously  murdered  her.  The  few 
fishermen  who  inhabited  the  place  were  then  absent,  and  the 
women  and  children  who  remained,  could  do  nothing  to  prevent 
the  consummation  of  the  fearful  crime.     The  piercing  screams 


212  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

of  the  victim  were  most  appalling,  and  her  cries  of  "  Lord,  save 
me  !  Mercy  !  0  Lord  Jesus,  save  me  !  "  were  distinctly  heard 
in  the  silence  of  the  night.  The  body  was  buried  on  the  spot 
where  the  deed  was  perpetrated,  and  for  over  one  hundred  and 
fifty  years,  on  each  anniversary  of  that  dreadful  tragedy,  the 
heartrending  screams  of  the  murdered  woman  for  mercy  were 
repeated  in  a  voice  so  shrill  and  unearthly  as  to  freeze  the  blood 
of  those  who  heard  them. 

This  legend  is  so  firmly  rooted  in  Marblehead,  that  Poly- 
phemus himself  could  not  tear  it  from  tlie  soil.  Even  the  most 
intelligent  people  have  admitted  tlieir  full  belief  in  it :  and  one 
of  the  most  learned  jurists  of  his  time,  who  was  native  here, 
and  to  the  manner  born,  averred  that  he  had  heard  those  ill- 
omened  shrieks  again  and  again  in  the  still  hours  of  the  night. 

To  this  local  episode  the  following  narrative  of  piracy  in  its 
palmiest  days  seems  the  appropriate  pendant. 


THE  STRANGE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 
ASHTON. 

PHILIP  ASHTON  was  a  young  Marblehead  fisherman,  who, 
with  other  townsmen  of  his,  was,  in  the  month  of  June, 
1722,  quietly  pursuing  his  legitimate  calling  upon  the  fishing- 
grounds  lying  off  Cape  Sable.  It 
being  Friday,  he  and  his  mates 
hoisted  sail  and  stood  in  for  Port 
Roseway,  meaning  to  harbor  there 
until  the  Sabbath  was  over.  AVhen 
their  shallop  arrived,  late  in  the 
afternoon,  in  this  harbor,  the  fish- 
ermen saw  lying  peaceably  among 
the  fleet  of  fishing  craft  a  strange 

low's    I'LAG.  1     •  i-  1  •    1       i.1  1 

brigaiitnu",    which   tliey   supposed 
to  be  an  inward-ljound  West  Indiamun. 


STRANGE   ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP    ASHTON.  213 

But  after  the  shallop  had  been  at  anchor  two  or  three  hours, 
a  boat  from  the  brigantiue  came  alongside  of  her,  and  her  men, 
jumping  upon  deck,  drew  from  underneath  their  clothing  the 
cutlasses  and  pistols  with  which  they  were  armed,  and  with 
oaths  and  menaces  demanded  of  the  startled  fishermen  the  in- 
stant surrender  of  themselves  and  their  vessel.  Having  sus- 
pected no  danger,  and  being  thus  taken  unawares,  these  poor 
fishermen  were  unable  to  make  the  least  resistance,  and  they 
could  only  yield  themselves  up  in  surprise  and  terror  to  their 
assailants.  In  this  manner  the  brigantine's  crew  surprised 
twelve  or  thirteen  more  peaceable  fishing-vessels  that  evening. 
The  prisoners  vainly  asked  themselves  what  it  could  all  mean. 

When  Ashton  and  his  comrades  were  taken  on  board  the 
brigantine,  their  worst  fears  were  more  than  realized  upon  find- 
ing themselves  in  the  power  of  the  red-handed  pirate,  Ned  Low, 
whose  name  alone  was  a  terror  to  all  who  followed  the  sea  in 
honest  ways,  and  whose  ambition  it  was  to  outdo  the  worst 
cruelties  of  his  infamous  predecessors  in  crime. 

Low  presently  sent  for  Ashton  to  come  aft,  where  the  young 
lad  found  himself  face  to  face  with  the  redoubtable  rover,  who, 
according  to  the  pirates'  custom,  and  in  their  proper  dialect, 
asked  him  if  he  would  sign  their  articles  and  go  along  with 
them  as  one  of  the  band.  To  this  Ashton  returned  a  firm  re- 
fusal ;  he  was  then  without  ceremony  thrust  down  into  the 
ship's  hold. 

On  the  ensuing  Sabbath  Ashton  with  others  was  again  brought 
before  the  pirate  chief,  who  this  time,  in  a  tone  that  struck  far 
more  terror  than  the  pistol  he  held  cocked  in  his  hand,  ex- 
claimed, "Are  any  of  you  married  men?"  Not  knowing  to 
what  this  unexpected  question  might  lead,  or  what  trap  might 
be  set  for  them,  the  poor  fellows  were  dumb,  and  they  answered 
not  a  word  ;  which  so  incensed  the  pirate,  that  he  put  his  pistol 
to  Ashton's  head,  crying  out,  "  You  dog,  why  don't  you  answer 
me  1 "  at  the  same  time  swearing  vehemently  that  if  he  did  not 
instantly  tell  whether  he  was  or  was  not  married,  he  would 
shoot  him  where  he  stood.     To  save  his  life,  Ashton,  in  as  loud 


214  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

a  voice  as  lie  dared  to  speak  it,  answered  tliat  he  was  single  ; 
and  so  said  the  rest  of  liis  companions. 

To  their  unspeakable  dismaj''  they  learned  that  this  answer 
doomed  them  to  the  fate  from  which  they  were  so  anxious  to 
escape,  it  being  one  of  Low's  whims  not  to  force  any  married 
man  into  his  service.  While  the  greater  number  of  the  captive 
lisliermen  were  therefore  released,  Ashton  was  among  those  who 
were  detained  close  prisoners  on  board  the  pirate  ship. 

His  steady  refusal  to  join  them  subjected  young  Ashton  to 
the  most  brutal  treatment  at  the  hands  of  Low's  miscreants, 
whose  continued  carousals,  mingled  with  the  most  hideous  blas- 
phemy, converted  the  pirate  ship  into  a  veritable  hell  afloat. 

Low  first  bent  his  destructive  course  towards  Newfoundland. 
But  here  his  first  venture  nearly  proved  to  be  his  last ;  for  hav- 
ing descried  a  large  ship  lying  in  the  Harbor  of  St.  John's,  he 
resolved  to  go  in  and  take  her,  and  so  to  furnish  himself  with  a 
larger  and  a  better  shi[)  than  the  one  he  now  commanded.  With 
this  intention,  after  concealing  the  greater  part  of  his  crew  be- 
low, the  pirate  stood  boldly  in  towards  his  expected  prey,  mean- 
ing to  run  close  alongside,  and  then  to  carry  her  by  boarding, 
before  his  purpose  should  be  suspected.  But  here  his  patron 
fiend  served  him  a  good  turn  at  need.  For  as  the  buccaneer 
stealthily  drew  into  the  harbor,  he  met  a  fishing-boat  coming 
out,  and  having  hailed  her,  learned  to  his  dismay  that  the  ship 
he  was  going  to  take  with  his  two  or  three  score  of  cut-throats, 
was  a  large  man-of-war,  capable  of  blowing  him  out  of  the  water 
with  a  single  broadside. 

In.stead,  therefore,  of  going  into  tlie  harbor,  Low  made  all  tlie 
haste  he  could  to  put  a  safe  distance  between  him  and  the 
cruiser,  lest  he  should  catch  a  Tartar  where  he  had  looked  for  an 
easy  conquest.  He  now  stretched  away  farther  to  the  eastward, 
and  entering  Conception  Bay,  put  into  a  small  port  called  Car- 
bonear,  where  he  landed  his  men,  who  first  sacked  and  then 
burned  the  place  to  the  ground.  He  next  made  for  the  Grand 
Banks,  where,  after  capturing  and  plundering  seven  or  eight 
vessels,  he  sailed  away  for  St.  Michael's  in  the  Azores,  taking 


STRANGE   ADVENTURES   OF    PHILIP    ASHTON.  215 

with  him  one  of  his  prizes.  When  off  this  port  Low  fell  in 
with  and  made  prize  of  a  large  Portuguese  pink  loaded  with 
wheat ;  and  finding  her  to  be  a  good  sailer,  she  was  manned  and 
turned  into  a  piratical  craft,  flying  the  skeleton  flag  that  Low 
carried  at  his  masthead. 

To  the  Canaries,  to  the  Cape  de  Verde  Islands,  to  Bonavista, 
the  freebooter  sailed  on,  leaving  the  wreck  of  burned  and  plun- 
dered ships  in  his  track.  Then  he  ran  down  the  coast  of  Brazd, 
hoping  to  meet  with  richer  prizes  than  any  he  had  yet  taken  ; 
but  from  these  shores  he  was  driven  by  the  fury  of  a  gale  tliat 
nearly  proved  fatal  to  him  and  his  fortunes.  Escaping  this,  the 
pirate  suddenly  appeared  in  the  West  Indies  ;  and  after  burning, 
plundering,  and  sinking  to  his  heart's  content,  he  scoured  the 
Spanish  Main  for  a  while  with  variable  success. 

At  lenoth,  after  many  perils  encountered  and  escaped.  Low's 
two  vessels  entered  Roatau  Harbor,  in  the  Bay  of  Honduras,  in 
order  to  heave  down  and  clean  their  bottoms,  and  to  get  a  sup- 
ply of  water.  Here  at  last  came  the  chance  which  Ashton  had 
so  ardently  longed  for. 

Up  to  this  time  the  pirates  had  never  allowed  him  to  land 
with  them.  More  than  one  well-laid  plan  to  escape  out  of  their 
clutches  had  already  been  thwarted  in  a  way  to  crush  out  all 
hope  for  the  future.  But  he  resolutely  determined  to  make  one 
more  effort  to  gain  his  freedom  ;  for  besides  being  a  lad  of  sense 
and  spirit,  Ashton  was  young  and  vigorous,  and  ready  to  con- 
front any  danger,  however  great,  that  should  lie  in  the  way  to 
his  deliverance  from  the  pirate  crew. 

One  morning,  as  Low's  long-boat  was  passing  by  Ashton's 
vessel  on  her  way  to  the  watering-place,  the  lad  hailed  her,  and 
entreated  to  be  allowed  to  go  on  shore  with  the  men  who  were 
taking  the  water-casks  to  be  filled.  After  some  hesitation,  the 
cooper,  who  had  charge  of  the  boat,  took  him  in,  little  imagining 
that  there  was  any  danger  of  his  running  away  in  so  desolate  and 
forbidding  a  place  as  this  was.    Ashton  jumped  into  the  boat. 

When  they  landed,  Ashton  was  at  first  very  active  in  helping 
to  get  the  casks  out  of  the  boat.     But  by  and  by  he  gradually 


216  XEW-EXGLAND   LEGENDS. 

strolled  along  the  beach,  picking  up  stones  and  shells,  and  look- 
ing sharjjly  about  him  in  search  of  a  place  suitable  for  his 
jxirpose. 

He  had  got  a  gunshot  off,  and  had  begun  to  edge  up  towards 
the  woods,  when  the  cooper,  espying  him,  called  out  to  knoAv 
where  he  was  going.  The  resolute  lad  shouted  back  the  reply 
that  he  was  seeking  for  cocoa-nuts ;  and  pointing  to  a  grove  of 
stately  cocoa-palms  growing  just  in  front  of  him,  moved  on  into 
the  friendly  shelter  of  the  tropical  forest.  As  soon  as  he  had 
lost  sight  of  his  companions,  he  bounded  away  like  a  wounded 
deer  into  the  thick  undergrowth,  and  he  ran  on  until,  judging 
himself  to  have  gained  a  safe  distance,  he  threw  himself  on  the 
ground  in  the  midst  of  a  dense  thicket,  and  awaited  in  breath- 
less suspense  the  issue  of  his  bold  dash  for  liberty. 

After  the  men  had  filled  their  casks,  and  were  ready  to  go  on 
board,  the  cooper  called  to  Ashton  to  come  in ;  but  this  being  the 
last  thing  this  brave  lad  thought  of  doing,  he  made  no  answer, 
although  he  plainly  heard  the  men's  voices  in  his  snug  retreat. 
At  last  they  began  hallooing  to  him;  but  he  Avas  stiU  silent. 
He  could  hear  them  say,  "The  dog  is  lost  in  the  woods,  and 
can't  find  the  way  out."  Then,  after  shouting  again  to  as  little 
purpose  as  before,  to  Ashton's  great  joy  they  put  off  for  their 
vessel,  leaving  him-  alone  on  this  uninhabited  island,  with  no 
other  company  than  his  own  thoughts,  no  clothing  but  a  canvas 
cap  to  cover  his  head,  a  loose  tunic,  and  trousers  to  protect  his 
body,  and  nothing  else  besides  his  two  hands  to  defend  himself 
from  the  Avild  beasts  of  prey  that  prowled  unmolested  about  the 
^hideous  thickets  around  him.  He  had  jumped  into  the  boat 
just  as  he  stood,  having  no  time  to  snatch  up  even  so  indis- 
pensable a  thing  as  a  knife,  or  a  flint  and  steel  to  kindle  a 
fire  with.  Yet  he  considered  this  condition  preferable  to  the 
company  he  had  left. 

Ashton  passed  the  next  five  days  in  watching  the  pirate 
vessels,  fearing  that  Low  might  send  a  party  in  pursuit  of  him ; 
but  at  the  end  of  that  time  he  saw  them  hoist  sail  and  put  to 
sea.     Not  until  then  did  he  breathe  freely. 


STRANGE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP  ASHTON. 


217 


In  order  to  find  out  in  what  manner  he  was  to  live  for  the 
future,  Ashton  began  to  range  the  island  over.  He  saw  no  evi- 
dence of  any  human  habitation,  except  one  walk  of  lime-trees 
nearly  a  mile  long,  with  here  and  there  some  fragments  of  pot- 
tery strewed  about  the  place,  by  which  signs  he  guessed  that  he 
had  lighted  upon  some  long-deserted  residence  of  the  Indians. 
The  island  was  mountainous,  and  the  mountains  were  thickly  cov- 
ered with  a  scrubby  black  pine,  making 
them  almost  inaccessible.  The  valleys 
abounded  with  fruit-trees  ;  but  so  dense 
was  the  tropical  undergrowth  here,  that 
it  was  with  great  difficulty  that  Ashton 
could  force  his  way  through  it,  he  hav- 


ALONE   ON   THE   DESERT   ISLAND. 


ing  neither  shoes  nor  stockings  to  protect  his  feet  from  the 
sharp  thorns  that  pierced  the  flesh.  There  Avere  plenty  of  cocoa- 
nuts  to  be  had  for  the  trouble  of  picking  them  up ;  but  as  Ashton 
had  no  way  of  breaking  the  thick  husks,  this  delicious  fruit  was 
of  no  advantage  to  him.     There  were  also  many  other  sorts  of 


218  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

fruits  hanging  most  temptingly  -within  reach  of  the  half-starved 
Ashton's  hand  ;  but  not  knowing  what  they  were,  he  dared  not 
touch  any  of  them  until  he  saw  the  wild  hogs  freely  feeding 
upon  them.  And  some  of  them  which  were  really  poisonous  he 
often  handled,  but  luckily  refrained  from  eating.  He  therefore 
lived  for  some  time  upon  the  grapes,  figs,  and  wild  beach-plums 
that  grew  abundantly  everywhere  about  him,  making  such  a 
shelter  as  he  could  from  the  copious  night-dews  that  fell,  by 
leaning  some  fallen  branches  against  a  tree-trunk,  and  tben 
covering  this  rude  framework  with  a  thatch  of  palmetto-leaves. 
In  time  he  built  many  of  these  huts  in  different  parts  of  his 
island. 

There  were  also  upon  this  island,  and  upon  the  islands  adjacent 
to  it,  wild  deer  and  hogs.  The  woods  and  waters  abounded  too 
with  duck,  teal,  curlew,  pelicans,  boobies,  pigeons,  parrots,  and 
other  birds  fit  to  be  eaten.  The  seas  teemed  with  fish  and  the 
shores  with  tortoises.  But  notwithstanding  his  mouth  often 
watered  for  a  bit  of  them,  Ashton  was  able  to  make  no  use 
whatever  of  all  this  store  of  beast,  fish,  and  fowl,  for  want  of  a 
knife  and  a  fire.  So  in  the  midst  of  plenty  he  was  reduced 
even  lower  than  the  savage,  —  who  can  at  least  always  make 
for  himself  weapons  to  kill  and  fire  to  dress  his  food. 

For  nine  solitary  months  Philip  Ashton  lived  alone  on  this 
island  without  seeing  one  human  being.  The  parrots  had  not 
learned  to  talk,  so  that,  compelled  as  he  was  to  keep  silence,  he 
sometimes  feared  that  he  might  lose  the  power  of  speech,  or 
forget  the  sound  of  his  own  voice.  To  escape  from  the  mosqui- 
toes, black-flies,  and  other  insect  pests  which  made  his  life  in- 
tolerable to  him,  Ashton  formed  the  habit  of  swimming  over  a 
narrow  cliannel  that  separated  his  island  from  one  of  the  low- 
lying  k(;ys,  where  he  mostly  spent  his  days.  In  one  of  these 
journeys  he  narrowly  escaped  being  devoured  by  a  shark,  which 
struck  him  just  as  he  reached  the  shallow  water  of  the  shore. 
This  key  also  gave  him  a  broader  and  a  clearer  sea-view  ;  for  it 
may  well  be  imagined  that  never  during  his  waking  hours  did  he 
intermit  his  weary  watch  for  a  friendly  sail.     Sometimes  ho  sat 


STRANGE   ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP    ASHTON. 


219 


with  his  back  against  a  tree,  aud  liis  face  tu  the  sea,  for  a  wliole 
day,  without  stirring  from  the  spot. 

Weakened  by  exposure  and  the  want  of  proper  food,  unable 
longer  to  drag  his  torn  and  wounded  limbs  about  the  island, 
Ash  ton  at  last  sickened ;  and  as  his  helplessness  increased,  the 
prospect  of  a  horrible  death  stared  him  in  the  face.  As  tlie 
days  and  nights  wore  away,  he  fell  into  a  deadly  stupor.  In  this 
extremity  he  one  day  espied  a  canoe,  with  one  man  in  it,  com- 
ing towards  him.  When  he  was  near  enough,  Ashton  feebly 
called  out  to  him.  After  some  hesitation  the  man  landed.  He 
proved  to  be  an  Englishman  who,  to  save  his  life,  had  fled  from 
the  Spanish  settlements.  For  three  days  Ashton  had  the  un- 
speakable pleasure  of  a  companion  in  his  misery  ;  but  at  the  end 
of  this  brief  time  his  solitary  visitor,  having  left  him  to  go  upon 
a  hunting  excursion  among  the  islands,  was  drowned  in  a  squall, 
leaving  the  hermit  again  alone  in  his  wretchedness  and  anguish 
of  body  and  mind.  His  condition  was,  however,  somewhat  im- 
proved ;  for  thanks  to  his  late  companion  he  now  had  a  knife, 
a  little  pork,  some  gunpowder,  and  a  flint,  and  so  the  means  of 
making  a  fire,  which  was  to  him  the  greatest  of  luxuries. 

Between  two  and  three  months  after  he  had  lost  his  com- 
panion, Ashton,  in  one  of  his  rambles,  found  a  small  canoe 
stranded  upon  the  shore.  This  enabled  him  to  extend  his  ex- 
cursions among  the  islands,  and  in  this  way  gave  promise  of  an 
escape  to  some  of  the  distant  settlements. 

How  he  made  a  voyage  to  the  Island  of  Bonacco,  and  while 
asleep  was  discovered  and  fired  upon  by  a  party  of  Spaniar.ls  ; 
how  he  made  his  escape  from  them,  finally  reaching  his  old 
quarters  at  Roatan,  — are  events  that  we  have  no  time  to  dwell 
upon.  That  he  had  found  civilized  beings  more  cruel  than  the 
wild  beasts  — for  these  had  not  harmed  him  — was  a  lesson 
that  made  him  more  wary  about  extending  his  explorations  too 
far  in  the  future. 

Some  time  after  this  adventure  Ashton  again  saw  canoes 
approaching  his  place  of  refuge.  Tlie  smoke  of  his  fire  had 
drawn  them  in  towards  the  shore.     Ashton  then  showed  himself 


220  NEW-ENCxLAND    LEGENDS. 

on  the  beach.  The  canoes  came  to  a  standstill.  Then  the 
parties  hailed  each  other,  and  after  mutual  explanations,  one 
man  ventured  to  come  to  the  shore.  When  he  saw  the  forlorn 
and  miserable  object  of  his  fear,  he  stood  in  speechless  amaze- 
ment ;  but  at  length  the  two  men  fell  to  embracing  each  other, 
and  then  the  stranger,  taking  the  emaciated  body  of  Ashton  in 
his  arms,  carried  him  to  the  canoes,  where  the  others  received 
him  kindly  and  made  him  welcome  among  them. 

Ashton  told  them  his  story.  The  strangers  then  informed 
him  that  they  were  from  the  Bay  of  Honduras,  whence,  how- 
ever, they  had  been  forced  to  fly,  in  order  to  escape  from  the 
fury  of  the  Spaniards.  With  them  Ashton  lived  in  comparative 
ease,  until  his  old  enemies,  the  pirates,  discovered  and  made  a 
descent  upon  them  in  their  chosen  retreat.  Ashton's  dread  of 
again  falling  into  their  hands  may  be  easily  conceived.  He  with 
two  or  three  others  succeeded,  however,  in  making  good  their 
escape  into  the  Avoods.  The  rest  were  captured  and  taken  on 
board  the  same  vessel  in  which  Ashton  had  served  his  apjiren- 
ticeship  as  a  pirate. 

Two  or  three  months  more  passed.  Ashton  with  his  com- 
panions had  got  over  to  the  Island  of  Bonacco  again.  A  gale 
such  as  is  only  known  in  the  tropic  seas  arose,  and  blew  with 
great  violence  for  three  days.  To  Ashton  this  proved  indeed  a 
friendly  gale,  for  Avhen  it  had  subsided  he  descried  several  ves- 
sels standing  in  for  the  island.  Presently  one  of  them  anchored 
near  the  shore,  and  sent  in  her  boat  for  water.  This  vessel 
proved  to  be  a  brigantine  belonging  to  Salem,  and  in  her  Ashton 
took  passage  for  home,  where  he  safely  arrived  on  the  1st  of 
May,  172.5,  it  then  being  two  years  and  two  months  since  he 
had  escaped  from  the  pirate  ship. 


AGNES,    THE    MAID    OF    THE    INN. 


221 


AGNES,   THE   MAID  OF   THE   INN. 

THIS  pretty  story,  a  romance  of  real  life,  makes  us  ac- 
quainted with  two  noble,  but  impulsive  natures,  wliose 
destinies  first  became  interwoven  in  a  way  quite  the  reverse  of 
the  romantic.  After  perusing  it,  as  one  is  pretty  sure  to  do,  from 
be-inning  to  end,  one  is  very  apt  to  think  that  this  poor  Marble- 
head  maiden,  this  outcast,  if  you  will,  whose  great  love,  finally 
triumphing  over  pride,  prejudice,  suffering,  cruel  scorn,  and  every 
other  moral  impediment  that  the  world  puts  in  the  way  of  duty, 
really  confers  honor  upon  the  noble  knight  who  at  last  gives  her 
his  name,  by  awakening  in  him  truly  ennobhng  and  elevating 
sentiments.  In  such  a  life  as  that  of  Agnes  one  cannot  help 
seeing  a  design.  Without  her  Sir  Henry  was  a  mere  votary  of 
pleasure,  a  man  of  the  world.  She  really  made  a  man  of  him 
at  last.     But  to  our  tale. 

In  the  summer  of  1742  the  course  of  official  duty  called  the 
Collector  of  Boston  to  Marblehead.  The  incumbent  of  this 
office,  which  had  been  established  with  much  opposition  in  the 
Colonial  capital,  and  was  little  respected  outside  of  it,  was  then 
Henry  Frankland,  of  Mattersea,  in  Nottinghamshire,  who  was 
also  connected  with  one  of  the  greatest  families  in  the  North, 
and  who  was  the  heir  presumptive  to  a  baronetcy.  This  young 
man,  who  at  the  early  age  of  twenty-six  had  come  into  the  pos- 
session both  of  a  fortune  and  of  a  highly  lucrative  and  honorable 
appointment,  was  now  in  the  pursuit  of  a  career.  With  rank, 
wealth,  and  high  social  position  as  his  birthright,  with  rare  per- 
sonal attractions,  and  with  the  endowments  which  all  these  had 
brought  to  his  aid,  Henry  Frankland's  future  bid  fair  to  become 
unusually  dazzling  and  brilliant. 


222 


NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 


Marblehead  being  at  this  period  of  her  history  the  smuggling 
port  for  Boston,  it  is  quite  probable  that  the  Collector's  visit, 
though  referred  to  other  causes,  looked  to  the  repression  of  this 
contraband  trade,  by  Avhich  the  King's 
revenues  were  every  day  defrauded, 
and  the  laws  of  the  ualui  moie  oi  le&s 
openly  ^  lolatcd 

Heniy  Fiankland,  having  alighted 
at  the  Fountain  Inn,  found  an  unex- 
pected obstacle  in  his  ])ath 

Tins  was  a  young  and  lemaikably 
beautiful  gul,  ^^ho  \\as  busily  engaged 
in  .^Clubbing   the  floor  when   he  en- 
tered, and  \vho,  we  are  wiUing  to 
affiini,  found  the  time  to  dait  an  in- 
vestigating and  appieciative  glance 
at    the    handsome 


iMiin.    . 


LOVE    AT   FIRST   SIGHT. 


young   guest,   to   whom    her   own 
mean  garb  and  menial  occupation 
offered  the  strongest  possible  con- 
trast.    Struck  with  the  rare  beauty  of  her  face  and  person,  the 
young  man  stopped  to  look  and  to  admire.     Hi?  was  the  pride 
of  birth  and  station  ;  hers  the  submissive  deference  that  the  poor 


AGNES,  THE  MAID  OF  THE  INN.  223 

and  lowly  paid  to  its  arrogant  demands.  He  was  booted  and 
spurred,  and  wore  liis  laced  beaver ;  she  bareheaded  and  bare- 
footed, and  upon  her  knees.  He  had  the  unmistakable  air  of 
distinction  and  breeding  of  his  class  ;  she  was  scrubbing  the 
floor. 

The  young  man  called  her  to  him,  put  some  questions  negli- 
gently, and  then,  pleased  with  her  answers,  dropped  a  piece  of 
silver  into  her  hand  and  passed  on.  He  had  seen  a  pretty  serv- 
ing-maid who  told  him  that  she  was  called  Agnes— Agnes 
Surriage. 

Later  on,  a  second  visit  to  the  inn  showed  him  the  same 
charming  picture,  even  to  the  minutest  details.  Agnes  was  still 
doing  the  drudgery  of  the  inn  without  shoes  or  stockings  to 
cover  her  little  feet. 

When  the  baronet  asked  why  she  had  not  bought  them  with 
the  money  he  had  given  her,  she  naively  answered  that  she  had 
indeed  done  so,  but  that  she  kept  them  to  wear  in  meeting.  ^  Per- 
haps this  elegant  young  man  had  unwittingly  awakened  in  her 
breast,  like  Eve  in  Adam,  the  knowledge  that  was  to  give  a  new 
direction  to  her  life,  —  the  painful  discovery  of  a  dehciency  of 
which  she  had  before  been  calmly  unconscious.  Perhaps  some- 
thing gave  her  the  courage  to  measure  the  distance  between 
them.  We  do  not  know.  Had  Agnes  been  plain  as  well  as 
poor,  he  might  have  passed  her  by  without  noticing  that  her 
feet  were  bare  or  her  dress  scanty.  Her  beauty  exacted  this 
homage,  which  he  would  have  called  his  condescension. 

Just  what  was  Sir  Henry's  first  design,  or  what  the  workings 
of  his  mind,  do  not  at  this  moment  clearly  appear ;  perhaps,  pro- 
ceeding from  impulse,  they  were  only  half  formed  at  best ;  but 
be  that  as  it  may,  his  growing  interest  in  Agnes  presently  led 
him  to  seek  an  interview  with  her  parents,  who  were  poor  and 
worthy  people,  living  in  the  town,  and  to  propose  removing 
their  daughter  to  his  own  home,  in  order  — Jesuit  that  he  was. 
_  to  crive  her  the  advantages  to  which  her  graces  of  mmd  and 
person";  as  he  warmly  protested,  fully  entitled  her.  The  parents 
acceded  only  too  readily  to  the  seductive  proposal.     They  could 


224  KEW-EXGLAND   LEGENDS. 

see  no  danger ;  not  they  !  Agnes  left  her  own  humble  home 
for  that  of  Sir  Henry ;  and  so  this  girl  of  sixteen  became  the 
ward  of  this  grave  young  gentlemen  of  twenty-six.  But,  igno- 
rant as  she  was,  and  humble  and  artless,  it  is  easy  to  believe 
that  she  had  already  taught  him  something  he  was  in  no  haste 
to  unlearn. 

Agnes  did  ample  justice  to  her  guardian's  high  opinion  of  her 
mental  qualifications.  The  virgin  soil  is  deep  and  productive. 
She  was  taught  the  commoner  branches,  as  well  as  the  accom- 
plishments then  deemed  indispensably  requisite  to  the  education 
of  a  gentlewoman  moving  in  her  adopted  sphere.  As  her  mind 
expanded,  so,  like  the  rose,  did  her  beauty  become  more  and  more 
radiant  with  the  consciousness  of  the  new  life  opening  to  her. 
She  was  a  being  created  to  love  and  be  loved.  Her  gratitude, 
her  confidence,  her  admiration  were  all  centred  upon  one  ob- 
ject. One  day  she  awoke  to  the  knowledge  that  she  was  be- 
loved, and  that  she  loved. 

By  the  death  of  his  uncle,  the  baronetcy  that  Avas  heredi- 
tary in  the  Yorkshire  branch  of  the  Franklands  devolved  upon 
Agnes'  guardian,  who,  having  now  legitimately  inherited  it, 
publicly  assumed  the  title. 

The  discovery  to  which  we  have  referred  had  its  usual  conse- 
quences. Sir  Henry  Frankland,  Baronet,  could  not  dream  of 
laying  his  noble  name  at  the  feet  of  a  serving -maid ;  not  he. 
His  horror  of  a  misalliance  was  even  greater  than  his  abhorrence 
of  a  different  and  a  more  equivocal  connection.  But  he  could 
not  give  her  up.  We  will  let  the  veil  fall  upon  the  weakness  of 
both  of  these  lovers.  He  was  her  idol,  she  his  infatuation ; 
he  loved  like  a  man,  and  she  like  a  woman. 

Sir  Henry's  conduct  in  openly  living  with  his  lovely  ward  out- 
side of  the  pale  of  matrimony  being  whispered  about,  was  an 
offence  too  flagrant  for  the  stern  morality  of  the  city  of  the  Puri- 
tans to  endure  ;  and  its  indignation  was  soon  made  manifest  in  a 
way  to  cut  a  proud  and  sensitive  nature  to  the  quick.  Society  he 
found  has  its  weapons,  and  can  use  them,  too,  willuuit  mercy. 
Society  could  not  justify  his  leading  the  girl  astray  ;  but  it  would 


AGNES,  THE  MAID  OF  THE  INN.  225 

have  forgiven  hiin  now,  had  he  chosen  to  desert  her.    Boston  was 
no  longer  a  place  for  Agnes  or  for  liim ;  so  that  no  sooner  was 
he  established  in  his  Eden,  than  an  inexorable  voice  drove  lam 
forth.     He  purchased  an  estate  and  built  an  elegant  mansion  m 
the  pleasant  and  secluded  inland  village  of  Hopkinton,  to  which 
he  conveyed  Agnes,  and  with  her  took  up  his  residence  there. 
While  they  lived  here,  the  hospitality  and  luxury  of  the  great 
house,  and  the  beauty  of  Sir  Henry's  mysterious   companion, 
were  the  prolific  theme  in  all  the  country  round.     Sir  Henry 
loved  the  good  old  English  fashion,  devoting  himself  more  or 
less  to  the  care  and  embellishment  of  his  estate  with  the  Eng- 
lish gentleman's  hereditary  taste  and  method.     His  devotion  to 
Agnes  appears  to  have  suffered  no  diminution  ;  and  when  at 
length  he  was  compelled  at  the  call  of  urgent  affairs  to  visit 
England,  she  accompanied  him.     It  is  said  that  he  even  had 
the'hardihood  to  introduce  her  among  his  aristocratic  relatives 
as  Lady  Frankland;  and  if  he  did  so.  Sir  Henry  must  have 
grown  bold  indeed.     But  that  ill-advised  proceeding  met  with 
the  decisive  repulse  it  certainly  deserved.     Throughout  all  this 
singular  history  shines  the  one  ray  of  hope  for  Agnes.     Except 
in  name,  the  lovers  held  true  and  unswerving  faith  to  and  m 
each  other  as  fully  and  completely  as  if  they  had  been  actual 
man  and  Avife. 

But  we  must  hasten  on.  Sir  Henry's  aftairs  calling  him  to 
Lisbon,  Agnes  went  with  him.  While  they  were  sojourniBg  m 
the  Portuguese  capital,  the  dreadful  earthquake  of  1755  laid  the 
city  in  ruins.  Under  these  ruins  sixty  thousand  of  the  miser- 
able inhabitants  were  buried ;  the  rest  fled  in  terror.  The  car- 
riacre  in  which  Sir  Henry  happened  to  be  riding  was  crushed  by 
falhng  walls,  and  buried  underneath  the  rubbish.  Agnes  had  re- 
mained behind,  and  to  this  accident  she  owed  her  escape.  Run- 
ning into  the  street  at  the  first  alarm,  she  indeed  avoided  the 
horrible  death  which  had  swallowed  up  multitudes  around  her  ; 
but  who  can  tell  the  anguish  of  her  soul  in  that  moment  1  She 
was,  indeed,  saved;  but  where  was  her  lord  and  protector  1 
Frantic  and  despairing,  but  faithful  to  death,  she  followed  such 
15 


226  NEW-EXGLAND   LEGENDS. 

faiut  traces  as  in  the  coiifusiou  of  that  hour  could  be  obtained, 
until  chance  at  length  led  her  to  the  spot  where  he  lay,  helpless 
and  overwhelmed.  A  fine  lady  would  have  recoiled  and  fainted 
dead  away ;  Agnes  Surriage,  again  the  working  girl  of  Marble- 
liead,  instantly  set  to  work  to  rescue  her  lover  from  the  ruins 
with  her  own  hands.  In  an  hour  he  was  extricated  from  tlie 
rubbish.  He  was  still  living.  She  conveyed  him  to  a  place 
that  had  escaped  the  shock  of  the  earthquake,  where  she  nursed 
him  into  health  and  strength  again.  Vanquished  by  this  last 
supreme  proof  of  her  love  for  him,  the  knight  gave  her  his 
hand  in  return  for  his  life.  And  who  can  doubt  that  with  this 
act  there  came  back  to  both  that  peace  of  mind  which  alone  was 
wanting  to  a  perfect  nnion  of  two  noble  and  loving  hearts  1 

We  are  obliged  to  content  ourselves  with  the  following  extracts 
from  the  poem  Avhich  Holmes  has  founded  upon  the  story  :  — 

A  scampering  at  the  Fountain  Inn  ; 

A  rush  of  great  and  small ; 
With  hurrying  servants'  mingled  din, 

And  screaming  matron's  call  ! 

Poor  Agnes !  with  her  work  half  done, 

They  caught  her  unaware, 
As,  humbly,  like  a  praying  nun, 

She  knelt  upon  the  stair  ; 

Bent  o'er  the  steps,  with  lowliest  mien 

She  knelt,  but  not  to  pray,  — 
Her  little  hands  must  keep  them  clean. 

And  wash  their  stains  away. 

A  foot,  an  ankle,  bare  and  white, 

Her  girlish  shapes  betrayed, — 
"  Ha  !  Nymphs  and  Graces  !  "  spoke  the  Knight ; 

"  Look  up,  my  beauteous  Maid  !  " 

She  turned,  —  a  reddening  rose  in  bud, 

Its  calyx  half  Avithdrawn  ; 
Her  cheek  on  fire  with  damasked  blood 

Of  girlhood's  glowing  dawn  ! 


SKIPPER    IRESON'S    RIDE.  227 

He  searched  her  features  through  and  through, 

As  royal  lovers  look 
On  lowly  maidens  when  they  woo 

Without  the  ring  and  book. 

"  Come  liitlier,  Fair  one  !  Here,  my  Sweet ! 

Nay,  prithee,  look  not  down  ! 
Take  this  to  shoe  those  little  feet,"  — 

He  tossed  a  silver  crown. 

A  sudden  paleness  struck  her  brow,  — 

A  swifter  flush  succeeds  ; 
It  burns  her  cheek  ;  it  kindles  now 

Beneath  her  golden  beads. 

She  flitted  ;  but  the  glittering  eye 

Still  sought  the  lovely  face. 
Who  was  she  ?     What,  and  whence  l  and  why 

Doomed  to  such  menial  place  I 

A  skipper's  daughter,  —  so  they  said,  — 

Left  orphan  by  the  gale 
That  cost  the  fleet  of  Marblehead 

And  Gloucester  thirty  sail. 


SKIPPER     IRESON'S     RIDE. 

ONE  of  the  most  spirited  of  Whittier's  home  ballads  —  cer- 
tainly the  most  famous  —  is  his  "Skipper  Ireson's  Ride," 
which  introduces  by  way  of  refrain  the  archaic  Marblehead  dia- 
lect that  is  now  nearly,  if  not  quite,  extinct.  Like  most  of  this 
poet's  characters,  Skipper  Iresou  is  a  real  personage,  whose  story, 
brieflly  told,  is  this  :  — 

Late  in  the  autumn  of  the  year  1808  the  schooner  "Betsy,"  of 
Marblehead,  Benjamin  Ireson,  master,  while  buffeting  its  .way 
towards  the  home  port  in  the  teeth  of  a  tremendous  gale,  fell 
in  with  a  wreck  drifting  at  the  mercy  of  the  winds  and  Avaves. 


228  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

This  was  the  schooner  "  Active,"  of  Portland,  that  liad  been  over- 
set in  the  gale.  It  was  then  midnight,  with  a  tremendous  sea 
running.  The  skipper  of  the  sinking  vessel  hailed  the  "Betsy" 
and  asked  to  be  taken  off  the  wreck,  from  which  every  wave 
indeed  threatened  to  wash  the  distressed  and  exhausted  crew. 
To  this  it  is  said  that  the  "  Betsy's  "  crew  —  one  does  not  like  to 
traduce  the  name  by  calling  them  sailors  —  strongly  demurred, 
alleging  the  danger  of  making  the  attempt  in  such  a  sea  in  sup- 
port of  their  cowardly  purpose  to  abandon  the  sinking  craft  to 
her  fate.  Some  say  that  Captain  Ireson  was  himself  disposed  to 
act  with  humanity,  and  to  lie  by  the  wreck  until  daylight,  but 
that  he  was  overruled  hj  the  unanimous  voice  of  his  men,  who 
selfishly  decided  not  to  risk  their  own  miserable  lives  in  order  to 
save  others.  The  "  Betsy's  "  course  was  accordingly  shaped  for 
Marblehead,  where  she  arrived  on  the  following  Sunday.  Her 
crew  at  once  spread  the  news  through  the  town  of  their  having 
fallen  in  with  a  vessel  foundering  in  the  bay,  when,  to  their 
honor,  the  Marblehead  people  immediately  despatched  two 
vessels  to  her  relief.  But  the  "Active"  had  then  gone  to  the  bot- 
tom of  the  sea,  and  the  relieving  vessels  returned  from  a  fruit- 
less search,  only  to  increase  the  resentment  already  felt  against 
Skipper  Ireson,  upon  whom  his  crew  had  thrown  all  the  blame 
of  their  own  dastardly  conduct.  Usually  dead  men  tell  no  tales ; 
but  it  so  fell  out  that  in  this  instance  a  more  damning  evidence 
to  Ireson's  inhumanity  appeared,  as  it  were,  from  the  grave 
itself  to  confront  him.  It  happened  that  on  the  morning  next 
following  the  night  of  the  "Betsy's"  desertion  of  them,  the 
captain  and  three  others  were  rescued  from  the  sinking  vessel. 
They  soon  made  public  the  story  of  the  cruel  conduct  of  the 
"  Betsy's"  people  ;  and  as  ill  news  travels  fast,  it  was  not  long 
before  it  reached  Marblehead,  throwing  that  excitable  town  into  a 
liubbub  over  the  aspersions  thus  cast  upon  its  good  name.  It 
was  soon  determined  to  take  exemplary  vengeance  upon  the 
offender.  One  bright  moonlight  night  Skipper  Ireson  heard  a 
knock  at  his  door.  Upon  oi)ening  it  he  found  himself  in  the 
nervous  grasp  of  a  band  of  resolute  men,  who  silently  hurried 


230  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

hiin  off  into  a  deserted  place,  —  with  what  object,  his  fears  alone 
could  divine.  They  tirst  securely  pinioned  and  then  besmeared 
him  from  head  to  foot  with  a  coat  of  tar  and  feathers.  In  the 
morning  the  whole  population  of  the  town  turned  out  to  wit- 
ness or  assist  in  this  ignominious  punishment,  which  had  been 
planned  by  some  of  the  bolder  spirits,  and  silently  approved  by 
the  more  timid  ones.  Ireson  in  his  filthy  disguise  was  seated  in 
the  bottom  of  a  dory,  —  instead  of  a  cart,  —  and,  surrounded 
by  a  hooting  rabble,  the  unfortunate  skipper  was  then  dragged 
through  the  streets  of  the  town  as  far  as  the  Salem  boundary- 
line,  where  the  crowd  was  met  and  stopped  by  the  selectmen  of 
that  town,  who  forbid  their  proceeding  farther,  —  thus  frustrating 
the  original  purpose  to  drag  Ireson  through  the  streets  of  Salem 
and  of  Beverly,  as  weU  as  those  of  Marblehead.  During  Ireson's 
rough  ride,  the  bottom  of  the  dory  had  fallen  out.  The  mob 
then  procured  a  cart,  and  Hfting  the  boat,  culprit  and  all,  upon 
it,  in  this  way  Ireson  was  taken  back  to  Marblehead.  More 
dead  than  alive,  he  was  at  last  released  from  the  hands  of  his 
tormentors  and  allowed  to  go  home.  When  he  was  free,  Ireson 
quietly  said  to  them  :  "  I  thank  you,  gentlemen,  for  my  ride;  but 
you  will  live  to  regret  it."  And  thus  ended  Benjamin  Ireson's 
shameful  expiation  of  a  shameful  deed. 

Using  the  facts  as  they  came  to  him,  and  with  the  sanction  of 
what  was  in  its  own  time  very  generally  applauded  as  the 
righteous  judgment  of  the  people  of  Marblehead,  the  poet  has 
put  Ireson  in  a  perpetual  pillory,  from  which  no  sober  second 
thought  is  able  to  rescue  him.  But  whether  culpable  or  not 
culpable  in  intention,  his  weakness  in  yielding  to  his  dastard 
crew,  if  in  fact  he  did  so  yield,  amounted  to  a  grave  fault,  closely 
verging  upon  the  criminal.  To-day  everybody  defends  Ireson's 
memory  from  the  charge  which  was  once  as  universally  believed 
to  be  true  ;  and  the  public  verdict  was,  "  served  him  right." 
Unfortunately,  however,  for  him,  his  exasperated  townsfolk  exe- 
cuted justice  on  the  spot,  according  to  their  own  rude  notions  of 
it,  before  their  wrath  had  had  time  to  grow  cool.  But  to  this 
fact  we  owe  the  most  idiosyncratic  ballad  of  purely  home  origin 


SKIPPEE   lEESON  S   EIDE. 


231 


in  the  language,  although  it  is   one  for  which   the  people  of 
Marblehead  have  never  forgiven  the  poet. 

With  poetic  instinct  Whittier  seized  upon  the  incident,  using 
more  or  less  freedom  in  presenting  its  dramatic  side.  In  the 
versified  story  we  are  made  lookers  on  while  the  strange  proces- 
sion, counting  its 

Scores  of  women,  old  and  young, 
Strong  of  muscle,  and  glib  of  tongue, 

Wrinkled  scolds,  with  hands  on  hips. 

Girls  in  bloom  of  cheek  and  lips. 

Wild-eyed,  free-limbed,  such  as  chase 

Bacchus  round  some  antique  vase, 

Brief  of  skirt,  with  ankles  bare. 

Loose  of  kerchief  and  loose  of  hair, 

With  conch-shells  blowing  and  fish-horns'  twang,  — 

goes  surging  on  through  the  narrow  streets,  now  echoing  to  the 

wild  refrain,  — 

"  Here  's  Find  Oirson,  for  his  horrd  borrt, 
Torr'd  an'  futherr'd  an'  corr'd  hi  a  corrt 
By  the  women  o'  Morble'ead!" 

The  only  liberty  that  the  poet  has  taken  with  the  story  is  in 

saying,— 

Small  pity  for  him  I  —  He  had  sailed  away 
From  a  leaking  ship,  in  Cbaleur  Bay,  — 
Sailed  away  from  a  sinking  wreck, 
With  his  own  town's-people  on  her  deck  ! 

The  disaster  really  happened  off  the  Highlands  of  Cape  Cod, 
and,  so  far  as  is  known,  there  were  no  Marblehead  people  on 
board  of  the  unlucky  craft  when  she  went  down.  But  m  truth 
such  trifling  departures  from  the  literal  facts  are  of  little  moment. 
The  world  long  ago  granted  to  the  poets  complete  absolution  for 
such  venial  sins  as  these  are,  seeing  that  since  the  days  ot 
Homer  it  has  been  their  profession  to  give  all  possible  enlarge- 
ment to  their  subjects. 


232  NEW-EXGLAXD   LEGENDS. 

Assuming  tlie  stigma  upon  Ireson's  memory  to  be  an  unjust 
one,  the  antidote  should  accompany  the  poison.  His  reputation 
has  found  a  vigorous  defender  in  the  verses  which  follow. 


A   PLEA   FOE   FLOOD    IRESON. 

CHARLES    T.   BROOKS. 

Old  Flood  Ireson  !  all  too  long 
Have  jeer  and  jibe  and  ribald  song 
Done  thy  memory  cruel  wrong. 

Old  Flood  Ireson  sleeps  in  his  grave  ; 
Howls  of  a  mad  mob,  worse  than  the  wave, 
Now  no  more  in  his  ear  shall  rave ! 

Gone  is  the  pack  and  gone  the  prey, 
Yet  old  Flood  Ireson's  ghost  to-day 
Is  hunted  still  dovm  Time'.^  highway. 

Old  wife  Fame,  with  a  fish-hom's  blare 
Hooting  and  tooting  the  same  old  air. 
Drags  him  along  the  old  thoroughfare. 

Mocked  evenn'ore  with  the  old  refrain. 
Skilfully  wrought  to  a  tuneful  strain, 
Jingling  and  jolting,  he  comes  again 

Over  that  road  of  old  renown, 
Fair  broad  avenue  leading  down 
Through  South  Fields  to  Salem  town. 

Scourged  and  stung  by  the  Muse's  thong, 
Movmted  high  on  the  car  of  song, 
Sight  that  cries,  O  Lord  !  how  long 

Shall  Heaven  look  on  and  not  take  part 

With  the  poor  old  man  and  his  fluttering  heart, 

Tarred  and  feathered  and  carried  in  a  cart  ? 


SKIPPER    IKf:SOxN'S    RIDE. 

Old  Flood  Ireson,  now  when  Fame 
Wipes  away  with  tears  of  shame 
Stains  from  many  an  injured  name, 

Shall  not,  in  the  tuneful  line. 
Beams  of  truth  and  mercy  shine 
Through  the  clouds  that  darken  thine  ? 


233 


CAPE    ANN    LEGENDS. 


CAPE   ANN. 


BY  commaud  of  Nature,  one  of  those  iron-ribbed  ridges 
which  it  astounds  us  to  see  forests  growing  and  people 
living  upon,  detaches  itself  from  the  Essex  coast,  and  advances 
steadily  five  leagues  out  into  the 
sea.  Halting  there,  it  covers  its 
head  with  a  bristling  array  of 
rocky  islands  and  jagged  reefs, 
which,  like  skirmishers  in  the 
front  of  l)attle,  now  here,  now 
there,  announce  their  presence  in 
the  offing  by  puffs  of  water  smoke. 
An  incessant  combat  rages  be- 
tween these  rocks  and  the  advan- 
cing ocean.  From  the  Highlands, 
at  the  land's  end,  it  is  possible  on 
a  clear  day  to  make  out  the  dim 

white  streak  of  Cape  Cod  stretching  its  emaciated  arm  from  the 
south  coast  towards  this  half-extended  and  rock-gauntleted  one 
from  the  north.  Between  the  two  capes,  which  really  seem  to 
belong  to  different  zones,  is  the  entrance  to  the  grand  basin  of 
Massachusetts  Bay,  over  which,  in  the  darkness,  the  brilliant 
rays  from  Thacher's  and  Highland  Hghthouses  cross  each  other 
like  flaming  sword-blades.  Among  the  thousands  that  have 
passed  in  or  out,  one  seeks  in  his  memory  for  only  one  little  bark 
carrying  an  entire  nation.     The  "  Mayflower  "  passed  here. 


THE    MAGNOLIA. 


238  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

The  sea,  we  notice,  welcomes  the  iutruding  headland  with  in- 
hospitable arms ;  but  at  the  extreme  point,  where  the  rock  is 
pierced  and  the  sea  flows  in,  there  is  a  port  of  refuge  that  has 
grown  to  be  the  greatest  fishing-mart  in  the  Union.  At  nearly 
all  times,  without  regard  to  season,  the  waters  around  it  are 
covered  with  a  flight  of  sails  entering  or  leaving  the  principal 
port,  reminding  one  of  the  restless  sea-gulls  that  circle  about 
their  rocky  aerie  when  bringing  food  to  their  young. 

The  muscular  shoulder  of  the  Cape  is  occupied  by  the  towns 
of  Beverly,  Wenham,  and  Hamilton,  the  central  portion  by 
Manchester  and  Essex,  and  the  extremity  by  Gloucester  and 
Eockport.  N'early  the  whole  interior  region  remains  the  same 
untamed  wilderness  that  it  was  a  hundred  years  ago ;  for  among 
these  rugged  hills  there  is  little  land  that  is  fit  for  farming,  and 
that  little  is  found  in  the  hollows,  or  bordering  upon  occasional 
arms  of  the  sea.  There  are,  however,  extensive  and  valuable 
forests  of  pine  and  cedar  covering  scattered  portions  with  a  per- 
ennial green.  The  sea  having  peopled  it,  and  the  land  offering 
nothing  better  than  stones,  timber,  and  fuel,  the  fishing-villages 
were  built  close  to  the  edge  of  the  shore,  where  there  were  nat- 
ural harbors  like  that  of  Gloucester,  or  upon  tidal  creeks  or  inlets 
like  those  of  Manchester  and  Annisquam.  From  these  villages 
sprang  a  hardy  race  of  sailors  renowned  in  song  and  story. 
Cooper's  "  Captain  Barnstable  "  comes  from  Chebacco,  a  precinct 
of  Essex  ;  Miss  Larcom's  "  Skipper  Ben  "  from  Beverly.  One 
does  not  think  of  these  people  as  having  any  fixed  relation  with 
the  land  :  they  are  amphibious. 

Its  general  and  apparently  irreclaimable  sterility  drove  the 
earliest  settlers  back  upon  the  mainland.  They  therefore  aban- 
doned their  rude  cabins  and  their  fishing-stages  at  the  extreme 
end  of  the  Cape,  and  newly  began  at  Mdiat  was  later  on  called 
Salem,  which  at  first  included  the  whole  Cape.  Yet  notwith- 
standing this  desertion,  settlements  were  soon  begun  at  Beverly 
and  Manchester,  and  Gloucester  was  permanently  re-occupied  on 
account  of  the  excellence  and  advantageous  position  of  its  har- 
bor.    But  fur  a  time  these  settlements  were  very  humble  ones. 


CAPE   ANN.  239 

Eoger  Conant  says  that  in  his  time  Beverly  was  nicknamed 
"  Beggarly."  He  wished  to  have  it  changed  to  Budleigh,  from 
a  town  in  Devonshire,  England.  Conant  should  find  a  name 
somewhere  on  Cape  Ann.  That  would  at  least  lead  to  the 
inquiry  "Who  was  Conant T'  He  remarks  that  he  had  no 
hand  in  naming  Salem,  Avhere  he  had  huilt  the  first  house,  Kor 
was  Blackstone,  the  first  white  settler  of  Boston,  or  Eoger  Wil- 
liams, who  founded  Providence,  more  fortunate  in  securing  post- 
humous remembrance. 

Bayard  Taylor  was  nevertheless  extremely  taken  with  the 
picturesqueness  of  the  interior  of  Cape  Ann,  and  he  was  a  trav- 
eller who  had  grown  something  fastidious  in  his  notions  of  natu- 
ral scenery.     He  speaks  of  it  thus,  — 

"  A  great  charm  of  the  place  is  the  wild  wooded  scenery  of  the 
inland.  There  are  many  little  valleys,  branching  and  winding  as  if 
at  random,  where  the  forests  of  fir  and  pine,  the  great,  mossy  bowl- 
ders, the  shade  and  coolness  and  silence,  seem  to  transfer  you  at  once 
to  the  heart  of  some  mountain  wilderness.  The  noise  of  the  sea  does 
not  invade  them  ;  even  the  salt  odor  of  the  air  is  smothered  by  the 
warm,  resinous  breath  of  the  pines.  Here  you  find  slender  brooks, 
pools  spangled  with  pond-lily  blossoms,  and  marshes  all  in  a  tangle 
with  wild  flowers.  After  two  or  three  miles  of  such  scenery  there  is 
no  greater  surprise  than  to  find  suddenly  a  blue  far  deeper  than  that 
of  the  sky  between  the  tree  trmiks,  and  to  hear  the  roar  of  the  break- 
ers a  hundred  feet  below  you." 

While  exploring  the  coast  one  finds  it  continually  shifting 
from  beaches  of  hard  sand,  strewn  with  a  fine  dark  gravel,  to 
picturesque  coves  bordered  all  around  with  rocks  shattered  into 
colossal  fragments,  and  bulging  out  like  masses  that  have  sud- 
denly cooled,  rusted  by  spray,  worn  to  glassy  smoothness,  yet 
all  split  and  fractured  and  upheaved  by  the  powerful  blows 
dealt  them  by  the  waves.  These  coves  make  the  most  charm- 
ing summer  retreats  imaginable  ;  and  some  of  them,  like  Old 
Kettle  Cove, —  which  under  the  name  of  Magnolia  has  a 
sweeter  sound,  —  and  Pigeon  Cove,  have  turned  their  primitive 
solitudes  into  populousness,  and  their  once  worthless  rocks  into 
pedestals   for   the    scores  of  beautiful  villas    that  have    sprung 


240  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

up   like   the  work  of  magic;  upon   their  bald  and  overhanging 
brows. 

In  one  place,  say  that  you  leave  the  road  in  order  to  walk 
over  a  smooth  esplanade  of  sand,  up  whose  gentle  slope  panting 
wave  chases  panting  wave  unceasingly,  while  the  forest-trees 
skirting  the  head  of  the  beach  bend  over  and  watch  this  fierce 
play,  with  all  their  leaves  trembling.  You  look  oif  over  the 
ridged  and  sparkling  sea-foam  into  the  open  mouth  of  ISIarble- 
head  Harbor,  whose  iron  headlands  the  distance  softens  to 
forms  of  wax.  Two  or  three  treeless  islands,  behind  which  a 
passing  vessel  lifts  its  snowy  sails,  are  luxuriously  dozing  in  the 
sun  and  sea.  This  must  be  the  haven  where  the  fleet  of  Win- 
throp  first  furled  its  tattered  sails  after  a  tempestuous  voyage 
across  the  Atlantic  of  more  than  two  months.  Yes,  there  is 
Baker's  Isle,  and  there  is  Little  Isle,  within  which  it  anchored. 
Then  it  was  here  that  the  colonists,  of  whom  he  was  the  Moses, 
first  set  foot  upon  the  soil  of  their  Promised  Land ;  and  it 
was  here  they  roamed  among  the  rocky  pastures,  gathering  wild 
strawberries  and  roses,  examining  everything  ^vith  eager  curi- 
osity, and  perhaps  with  doubt  whether  it  was  all  real,  and 
would  not  vanish  with  the  night. 

From  the  domain  of  History  we  enter  that  of  Poetry  over  the 
threshold  of  JS'ature. 

Not  many  years  ago,  while  he  was  the  guest  of  the  genial  and 
gifted  Fields,  whose  cottage  is  the  conspicuous  object  on  the  bald 
brow  of  Thunderbolt  Hill,  in  Manchester,  Bayard  Taylor  was 
taken  to  visit,  in  his  chosen  and  secluded  retreat,  the  venerable 
poet  who  dated  before  Byron,  Shelley,  and  Keats,  and  who  dis- 
covered the  genius  of  Bryant.  The  host  and  his  guests  are  now 
dead;  but  the  poet  traveller,  obeying  the  habit  of  a  lifetime, 
jotted  down  some  minutes  of  his  visit,  now  serving  to  recall 
the  man  and  the  scene  to  our  remembrance.     He  says  :  — 

"  Ketracing  our  way  a  mile  or  so,  we  took  a  different  road,  and 
approacheil  the  coast  through  open,  grassy  fields,  beyond  which,  ou 
the  edge  of  a  lofty  bluff,  stood  the  gray  old  mansion  of  the  venerable 
poet,  Richard  H.  Dana.     The  place  is  pingularly  wild,  lonely,  and 


CAl'E   ANN.  241 

picturesque.  No  other  dwelling  is  visible.  A  little  bight  of  the  coast 
thrusts  out  its  iron  headlands  at  a  short  distance  on  either  side  ;  the 
surf  thunders  incessantly  below  ;  and  in  front  the  open  ocean  stretches 
to  the  sky.  Mr.  Dana's  only  neighbors  are  the  vessels  that  come  and 
go  at  greater  or  less  distances." 

From   this   seclusion   the   Nestor   of  American  poetry  thus 
the  scene  before  him,  in  his  lines  to  the  ocean. 

Now  stretch  your  eye  off  shore,  o'er  waters  made 
To  cleanse  the  air  and  bear  the  world's  great  trade. 
To  rise,  and  wet  the  mountains  near  the  sun, 
Then  back  into  themselves  in  rivers  run, 
Fulfilling  mighty  uses  far  and  wide. 
Through  earth,  in  air,  or  here,  as  ocean  tide. 

Ho  !  how  the  giant  heaves  himself  and  strains 
And  flings  to  break  his  strong  and  viewless  chains  ; 
Foams  in  his  wrath ;  and  at  his  prison  doors. 
Hark  !  hear  him  !  how  he  beats  and  tugs  and  roars. 
As  if  he  would  break  forth  again  and  sweep 
Each  living  thing  withia  his  lowest  deep. 


sea 


And  though  the  land  is  thronged  again,  0 

Strange  sadness  touches  all  that  goes  with  thee. 

The  small  bird's  plaining  note,  the  wild,  sharp  call, 

Share  thy  own  spirit  :  it  is  sadness  all ! 

How  dark  and  stern  upon  thy  waves  looks  down 

Yonder  taU  cliff— he  with  the  iron  crown. 

And  see  !  those  sable  pines  along  the  steep 

Are  come  to  join  thy  requiem,  gloomy  deep! 

Like  stoled  monks  they  stand  and  chant  the  dirge 

Over  the  dead  with  thy  low-beatmg  surge. 
As  we  approach  the  end  of  the  Cape  we  enter  a  storied  region. 
Here  is  the  deep  cleft  known  as  Rafe's  Chasm,  and  the  tawny 
clump  of  stark  ledges  which  the  coast  throws  off  and  the  sea 
flies  incessantly  at,  called  Norman's  Woe.  Then  we  enter  the 
beautiful  islet-studded  harbor  of  Gloucester,  and  with  an  inter- 
est that  the  natural  beauties  of  the  spot  enhance,  we  fix  our 
«yes  upon  the  verdurous  southern  shore;  for  here  the  little 


242  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

colony  of  Eoger  Conant,  the  pioneer  governor,  maintained  a 
struggling  existence,  until,  like  a  garrison  which  can  no  longer 
hold  out,  it  fell  back  to  Saleru,  newly  chose  its  ground,  and 
again  bravely  confronted  its  old  enemies,  want  and  neglect.  But 
long  before  him,  this  cape  in  the  sea  picked  up  many  adventur- 
ous voyageurs,  one  of  whom  presently  demands  a  word  from  us. 

In  the  heart  of  the  Gloucester  woodlands  a  most  interesting 
floral  phenomenon  exists.  There,  apparently  defying  nature's 
lines  and  laws,  the  beautiful  magnolia  of  the  South  unfolds  in 
secret  its  snowy  flowers  and  exhales  its  spicy  perfume.  Another 
phenomenon  is  the  beach  at  Manchester,  whose  sands  emit  weird 
musical  tones  when  crushed  by  the  passage  of  wheels  through 
them.  Still  another  is  the  enormous  Moving  Rock  at  Squam 
Common,  —  a  heavy  mass  of  granite  so  exactly  poised  that  the 
pressure  of  a  child's  finger  is  sufficient  to  change  its  position. 

This  sterile  sea-cape  may  also  lay  claim  to  other  and  more 
enduring  associations  than  the  memories  of  a  summer  passed 
among  its  rocky  sea-nooks  can  afi"ord.  Beverly  was  the  home  of 
Robert  Rantoul,  whose  epitaph  has  been  written  by  Whittier, 
and  of  Lucy  Larcom ;  Hamilton  that  of  Abigail  Dodge ;  Essex, 
of  Rufus  Choate;  Gloucester,  of  E.  P.  Whipple  and  William 
Winter.  Manchester  was  Dana's  by  adoption,  as  Avell  as  the 
summer  haunt  of  Holmes,  James  and  Annie  Fields,  Elizabeth 
Phelps,  and  of  that  ancient  landmark  of  the  Boston  Pulpit,  the 
Reverend  Dr.  Bartol.  The  lamented  Dr.  E.  H.  Chapin  loved  his 
summer  home  at  Pigeon  Cove;  and  it  was  there  he  sought  relief 
from  the  haunting  "  demon  of  the  study."  This  was  also  the 
favorite  haunt  of  Bryant  and  of  Starr  King;  so  that  among 
those  who  Avere  either  native  or  who  were  habitually  sojourners 
are  many  of  the  men  and  Avomen  most  eminent  in  our  literary 
annals.     That  fact  of  itself  speaks  volumes  for  the  Cape. 

The  legends  of  Cape  Ann  are  indigenous,  and  are  mostly  sea- 
legends,  as  might  be  expected  of  a  seafaring  and  sea-subsisting 
population,  among  whom  the  marvellous  always  finds  its  most 
congenial  soil.  Let  us  add  that  no  longer  ago  than  last  win- 
ter, in  consequence  of  the  prediction  that  a  storm  unexampled  in 


CAPTAIN   JOHN   SMITH.  243 

the  annals  of  the  century  was  to  burst  forth  with  destructive  fury 
over  sea  and  land  upon  a  given  day,  not  a  vessel  of  the  Glouces- 
ter fishing  fleet  dared  put  to  sea.  Although  the  great  "  Wiggins 
storm  "  failed  to  make  its  appearance  at  the  time  predicted,  the 
losses  incurred  by  reason  of  the  number  of  fishermen  lying  idly 
at  their  moorings  amounted  to  many  thousands  of  dollars.  The 
first  of  these  legends  proper  to  be  introduced  —  not  forgetting 
that  De  Monts  and  Champlain  had  already  named  this  penin- 
sula the  Cape  of  Islands  —  is  a  sort  of  historical  complement  to 
our  description. 


CAPTAIN    JOHN     SMITH. 

THE  following  lines  from  Whittier's  beautiful  apostrophe  to 
his  beloved  river,  "  The  Merrimack,"  introducing  his  col- 
lection of  legendary  pieces,  is  seen  to  be  commemorative  of  that 
prince  of  explorers  and  hero  of  many  exploits,  Captain  John 
Smith,  to  whom  a  perverse  fortune  has  denied  any  share  of 
honor  for  his  efforts  to  make  Xew  England  known  and  appreci- 
ated in  the  Old  World.  In  the  belief  that  none  of  these  rugged 
rocks  had  ever  received  other  baptism  than  that  of  the  Avaves,  he 
first  gave  this  promontory  the  name  of  "Tragabigzanda"  for  a 
perpetual  souvenir  of  a  fair  Moslem  to  whom  he  owed  a  debt  of 
love  and  gratitude,  while  for  a  memorial  of  himself  he  conferred 
that  of  the  "  Three  Turks'  Heads  "  upon  the  tiaree  islands.  Milk, 
Thacher's  and  Straitsmouth,  lying  off  its  extreme  point,  and 
now  crowning  it  with  their  triple  lights. 

But  these  names  were  so  quickly  superseded  that  the  personal 
ambition  of  Smith  has  no  other  memorial  than  this  :  — 

On  yonder  rocky  cape,  which  braves 
The  stormy  challenge  of  the  waves. 
Midst  tangled  vine  and  dwarfish  wood. 
The  hardy  Anglo-Saxon  stood. 
Planting  upon  the  topmost  crag 
The  staff  of  England's  battle-flag  ; 


244  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

And,  while  from  out  its  heavy  fold 
St.  George's  crimson  cross  unrolled, 
Midst  roll  of  drum  and  trumpet  blare, 
And  weapons  brandishing  in  all-, 
He  gave  to  that  lone  promontory 
The  sweetest  name  in  all  his  story  ; 
Of  her,  the  flower  of  Islam's  daughters. 
Whose  harems  look  on  Stamboul's  waters. 
Who,  when  the  chance  of  war  had  bound 
The  Moslem  chain  his  limbs  around. 
Wreathed  o'er  with  silk  that  iron  chain. 
Soothed  with  her  smiles  his  hours  of  pain, 
And  fondly  to  her  youthful  slave 
A  dearer  gift  than  freedom  gave. 


TEACHER'S     ISLAND. 

THACHER'S  Island  is  one  of  the  most  important  light- 
house stations  on  the  whole  coast  of  the  United  States. 
It  contains  about  eighty  acres  of  gravelly  soil  thickly  strewn 
with  coarse  granite  bowlders,  among  which  the  light-keeper's 
cows  crop  a  scanty  growth  of  grass.  The  westernmost  headland, 
upon  which  are  some  ancient  graves,  said  to  be  those  of  the  vic- 
tims of  the  first  recorded  shipwreck  here,  resembles  Point  Aller- 
ton,  —  it  being  a  lofty  cliff  of  gravel  intermixed  with  bowlders 
that  vary  in  size,  from  the  smallest  pebbles  to  those  weighing 
many  tons.  It  is  continually  crumbling  away  before  the  wear 
and  tear  of  the  southeast  gales. 

The  hght-keeper's  residence  is  a  comfortable  modern  brick 
building  of  two  stories.  There  is,  or  rather  was,  at  the  time  of 
the  writer's  visit  to  the  island,  an  old  stone  house  standing 
there  that  was  reputed  to  be  of  great  age.  The  two  lightntowors, 
built  of  uncut  granite,  are  each  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  high, 
and  they  are  furnislied  with  lenses  in  w^hich  a  dozen  persons 
might  stand  erect  without  inconvenience.     The  keepers  have  all 


tiiachek's  island.  245 

followed  the  sea.  Only  sailors  are  capable  of  appreciating  the 
responsibility  that  the  station  imposes.  One  of  the  keepers 
said  to  me —  and  habitual  care  is  stamped  upon  the  faces  of 
these  men  —  "We  know  how  eyes  may  be  strained  in  thick 
weather  at  sea  to  get  hold  of  the  light ;  and  that  makes  us  pain- 
fully anxious  to  keep  it  up  to  its  full  power,  especially  when 
frosts  or  sea-scud  dims  the  lantern ;  for  that  is  the  very  time 
when  minutes  count  for  hours  on  board  ship." 

ANTHONY  THACHER'S  SHIPWEECK. 

The  story  of  how  Thacher's  Island  came  by  its  name  is  one  of 
tragical  interest,  and  is  found  in  a  letter  written  by  Anthony 
Thacher  to  his  brother  Peter,  first  printed  in  Increase  Mather's 
"Remarkable  Providences."  It  is  also  briefly  related  in  ^\^n- 
throp's  "Journal,"  where  it  is  entered,  under  the  year  of  its 
occurrence,  1635,  as  an  incident  of  the  awful  tempest  that  has 
thus  become  historical.  The  historian  Hubbard,  writing  long 
after  the  event,  says  that  "the  like  was  never  in  this  place 
known  in  the  memory  of  man,  before  or  since."  On  the  land^ 
houses  were  overturned  and  unroofed,  the  corn  was  beaten  down 
to  the  ground,  and  the  harvest  nearly  ruined,  and  thousands  of 
trees  were  torn  up  by  the  roots,  broken  in  two  like  pipe-stems, 
or  twisted  off  Hke  withes,  so  that  the  effects  of  it  were  visible 
for  many  years  afterwards.  At  sea  its  results  were  no  less  ter- 
rible, the  tide  rising  to  twenty  feet  on  some  parts  of  the  coast, 
and  being  then  kept  from  ebbing  in  its  usual  course  by  the 
extraordinary  violence  of  the  gale.  Of  the  many  disasters  sig- 
nalizing its  presence,  that  which  the  letter  relates  is  a  most 
gi-aphic  episode.  It  would  be  an  injustice  to  the  reader  not  to 
present  it  in  all  its  primitive  quaintness  of  form  and  style  as  a 
specimen  Hterary  composition  of  the  day.     Here  it  is: — 

I  must  turn  my  drowned  pen  and  shaking  hand  to  indite  this  story 
of  such  sad  news  as  never  before  this  happened  iir  New  England. 

There  was  a  league  of  per]ietual  friendship  between  my  cousin 
Avery-  and  myself,  never  to  forsake  each  other  to  the  death,  but  to  be 


246 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


partukei's  of  each  other's  misery  or  welfare,  as  also  of  hal)itation,  in 
the  same  place.  Now  upon  our  arrival  in  New  England  there  was 
an  oft'er  made  unto  us.  Mj  cousin  Avery  was  invited  to  Marble- 
head  to  be  their  pastor  in  due  time  ;  there  being  no  church  planted 
there  as  yet,  but  a  town  appointed  to  set  up  the  trade  of  fishing. 
Because  many  there  (the  most  being  fishermen)  were  something 
loose  and  remiss  in  their  behavior,  my  cousin  Avery  was  unwilling  to 
go  thither  ;  and  so  refusing,  we  went  to  Newberry,  intending  there 
to  sit  down.     But  being  solicited  so  often  both  by  the  men  of  the 


^:^       V 


THE   SHIPWRECK. 


place  and  by  the  magistrates,  and  by  Mr.  Cotton,  and  most  of  the 
ministers,  who  alleged  what  a  benefit  we  might  be  to  the  people  there, 
and  also  to  the  country  and  commonwealth,  at  length  we  embraced 
it,  and  thither  consented  to  go.  They  of  Marblehead  forthwith  sent 
a  pinnace  for  us  and  our  goods. 

We  embarked  at  Ipswich,  August  11,  1(;3.^  with  our  families  and 
substance,  bound  for  Marblehead,  we  being  in  all  twenty-three  souls,  — 
viz.,  eleven  in  my  cousin's  family,  seven  in  mine,  and  one  M 
Ham  Eliot,  sometimes  of  New  Saruni,  and  four  mariners.     Tl 


Wil- 

next 


thacher's  island.  247 

morning,  having  commended  ourselves  to  God,  with  cheerful  hearts 
we  hoisted  sail.  But  the  Lord  suddenly  turned  our  cheerfulness  into 
mourning  and  lamentations.  For  on  the  14th  of  this  August,  1635, 
about  ten  at  night,  having  a  fresh  gale  of  wind,  our  sails,  being  old 
and  done,  were  split.  The  mariners,  because  that  it  was  night,  would 
not  put  to  new  sails,  but  resolved  to  cast  anchor  till  the  morning. 
But  before  daylight  it  pleased  the  Lord  to  send  so  mighty  a  storm, 
as  the  like  was  never  known  in  New  England  since  the  English 
came,  nor  in  the  memory  of  any  of  the  Indians.  It  was  so  furious, 
that  our  anchor  came  home.  Whereupon  the  mariners  let  out  more 
cable,  which  at  last  slipped  away.  Then  our  sailors  knew  not  what 
to  do  ;  but  we  were  driven  before  the  wind  and  waves. 

My  cousin  and  I  perceived  our  danger,  [and]  solemnly  recom- 
mended ourselves  to  God,  the  Lord  both  of  earth  and  seas,  expecting 
with  every  wave  to  be  swallowed  up  and  drenched  in  the  deeps. 
And  as  my  cousin,  his  wdfe,  and  my  tender  babes  sat  comforting  and 
cheering  one  the  other  in  the  Lord  against  ghastly  death,  which  every 
moment  stared  us  in  the  face  and  sat  triumphing  upon  each  one's 
forehead,  we  were  by  the  violence  of  the  waves  and  fury  of  the  winds 
(by  the  Lord's  permission)  lifted  up  upon  a  rock  between  two  high 
rocks,  yet  all  was  one  rock.  But  it  raged  with  the  stroke,  which 
came  into  the  pinnace,  so  as  we  were  presently  up  to  our  middles  in 
water,  as  we  sat.  The  waves  came  furiously  and  violently  over  us, 
and  against  us  ;  but  by  reason  of  the  rock's  proportion  could  not  lift 
us  off,  but  beat  her  all  to  pieces.  Now  look  with  me  upon  our  dis- 
tress, and  consider  of  my  misery,  who  beheld  the  ship  broken,  the 
water  in  her  and  violently  overwhelming  us,  my  goods  and  provis- 
ions swimming  in  the  seas,  my  friends  almost  drowned,  and  mine 
own  poor  children  so  untimely  (if  I  may  so  term  it  without  offence) 
before  mine  eyes  drowned,  and  ready  to  be  swallowed  up  and  dashed 
to  pieces  against  the  rocks  by  the  merciless  waves,  and  myself  ready 
to  accompany  them.  But  I  must  go  on  to  an  end  of  this  woful 
relation. 

In  the  same  room  whereas  he  sat,  the  master  of  the  pinnace,  not 
knowing  what  to  do,  our  foremast  was  cut  down,  our  mainmast  broken 
in  three  pieces,  the  fore  part  of  the  pinnace  beat  away,  our  goods 
swimming  about  the  seas,  my  children  bewailing  me,  as  not  pitying 
themselves,  and  myself  bemoaning  them,  poor  souls,  whom  I  had 
occasioned  to  such  an  end  in  their  tender  years,  whenas  they  could 
scarce  be  sensible  of  death,  — and  so  likewise  my  cousin,  his  wife, 


248  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

and  bis  children  ;  and  both  of  us  bewailing  each  other  in  our  Lord 
and  only  Sa^dour  Jesus  Christ,  in  whom  only  we  had  comfort  and 
cheerfuLness  :  insomuch  that,  from  the  greatest  to  the  least  of  us, 
there  was  not  one  screech  or  outcry  made  ;  but  all,  as  silent  sheep, 
were  contentedly  resolved  to  die  together  lovingly,  as  since  our 
acquaintance  we  had  lived  together  friendly. 

Now  as  I  was  sitting  in  the  cabin  room  door,  with  my  body  in  the 
room,  when  lo !  one  of  the  sailors,  by  a  wave  being  washed  out  of  the 
pinnace,  was  gotten  in  again,  and  coming  into  the  cabin  room  over 
my  back,  cried  out,  "  We  are  all  cast  away.  The  Lord  have  mercy 
upon  us  !  I  have  been  washed  overboard  into  the  sea,  and  am  gotten 
in  again."  His  speeches  made  me  look  forth.  And  looking  toward 
the  sea,  and  seeing  how  we  were,  I  turned  myself  to  my  cousin  and 
the  rest,  and  spake  these  words  :  "  O  cousin,  it  hath  pleased  God  to 
cast  us  here  between  two  rocks,  the  shore  not  far  from  us,  for  I  saw 
the  tops  of  trees  when  I  looked  forth."  Whereupon  the  master  of 
the  pinnace,  looking  up  at  the  scuttle-hole  of  the  quarter-deck,  went 
out  at  it ;  but  I  never  saw  him  afterward.  Then  he  that  had  been 
in  the  sea  went  out  again  by  me,  and  leaped  overboard  toward  the 
rocks,  whom  afterward  also  I  could  not  see. 

Now  none  were  left  in  the  bark  that  I  knew  or  saw,  but  my  cousin, 
his  wife  and  children,  myself  and  mine,  and  his  maidservant.  But 
my  cousin  thought  I  would  have  fled  from  him,  and  said  unto  me  : 
"  b  cousin,  leave  us  not,  let  us  die  together  ;  "  and  reached  forth  his 
hand  unto  me.  Then  I,  letting  go  my  son  Peter's  baud,  took  him  by 
the  hand  and  said  :  "  Cousin,  I  purpose  it  not.  Whither  shall  I  go  ? 
I  am  willing  and  ready  here  to  die  with  you  and  my  poor  children. 
God  be  merciful  to  us,  and  receive  us  to  himseK  !  "  adding  these 
words  :  "  The  Lord  is  able  to  help  and  deliver  us."  He  replied,  saying, 
"  Truth,  cousin  ;  but  what  his  pleasure  is,  we  know  not.  I  fear  we 
have  been  too  unthankful  for  former  deliverances.  But  he  hath 
promised  to  deliver  us  from  sin  and  condemnation,  and  to  bring  us 
safe  to  heaven  through  the  all-sufficient  satisfaction  of  Jesus  Christ. 
This,  therefore,  we  may  challenge  of  him."  To  which  I,  replnng, 
said,  "  That  is  all  the  deliverance  I  now  desire  and  expect." 

Which  words  I  had  no  sooner  spoken,  but  by  a  mighty  wave  I  was, 
with  the  piece  of  the  bark,  washed  out  upon  part  of  the  rock,  where 
the  Avave  left  me  almost  drowned.  But  recovering  my  feet,  I  saw 
above  me  on  tlie  rock  my  daughter  Mary.  To  whom  I  had  no 
sooner  gotten,  but  my  cousin  Avery  and  his  eldest  son  came  to  us, 


thachek's  islaxd.  249 

being  all  four  of  us  washed  out  by  one  and  the  same  wave.  We  went 
all  into  a  small  hole  on  the  top  of  the  rock,  whence  we  called  to  those 
in  the  pinnace  to  come  unto  us,  supposing  we  had  been  in  more  safety 
than  they  were  in.  My  wife,  seeing  us  there,  was  crept  up  into  the 
scuttle  of  the  quarter-deck,  to  come  unto  us.  But  presently  came 
another  wave,  and  dashing  the  pinnace  all  to  pieces,  carried  my  wife 
away  in  the  scuttle  as  she  was,  with  the  greater  part  of  the  quarter- 
deck, unto  the  shore ;  where  she  was  cast  safely,  but  her  legs  were 
something  bruised.  And  much  timber  of  the  vessel  being  there  also 
cast,  she  was  some  time  before  she  could  get  away,  being  washed  by 
the  waves.  All  the  rest  that  were  in  the  bark  were  drowned  in  the 
merciless  seas.  We  four  by  that  wave  were  clean  swept  away  from 
off  the  rock  also  into  the  sea  ;  the  Lord,  in  one  instant  of  time,  dis- 
posing of  fifteen  souls  of  us  according  to  his  good  pleasure  and  will. 

His  pleasure  and  wonderful  great  mercy  to  me  was  thus.  Stand- 
ing on  the  rock,  as  before  you  heard,  with  my  eldest  daughter,  my 
cousin,  and  his  eldest  son,  looking  upon  and  talking  to  them  in  the 
bark,  whenas  we  were  by  that  merciless  wave  washed  off  the  rock,  as 
before  you  heard,  God,  in  his  mercy,  caused  me  to  fall,  by  the  stroke 
of  the  wave,  flat  on  my  face  ;  for  my  fiice  was  toward  the  sea.  Inso- 
much, that  as  I  was  sliding  off  the  rock  into  the  sea,  the  Lord  directed 
my  toes  into  a  joint  in  the  rock's  side,  as  also  the  tops  of  some  of  my 
fingers,  with  my  right  hand,  by  means  whereof,  the  wave  leaving  me, 
I  remained  so  hanging  on  the  rock,  only  my  head  above  the  water  ; 
when  on  the  left  hand  I  espied  a  board  or  plank  of  the  pinnace.  And 
as  I  was  reaching  out  my  left  hand  to  ky  hold  on  it,  by  another  com- 
ing over  the  top  of  the  rock  I  was  washed  away  from  the  rock,  and 
by  the  violence  of  the  waves  was  driven  hither  and  thither  in  the 
seas  a  great  while,  and  had  many  dashes  against  the  rocks.  At  length, 
past  hopes  of  life,  and  wearied  in  body  and  spirits,  I  even  gave  over 
to  nature  ;  and  being  ready  to  receive  in  the  waters  of  death,  I  lifted 
up  both  my  heart  and  hands  to  the  God  of  heaven,  —  for  note,  I  had 
my  senses  remaining  perfect  with  me  all  the  time  that  I  was  under 
and  in  water,  —  who  at  that  instant  lifted  my  head  above  the  top  of  the 
water,  that  so  I  might  breathe  without  any  hindrance  by  the  waters. 
I  stood  bolt  upright,  as  if  I  had  stood  upon  my  feet ;  but  I  felt  no 
bottom,  nor  had  any  footing  for  to  stand  upon  but  the  waters. 

While  I  was  thus  above  the  water,  I  saw  by  me  a  piece  of  the  mast, 
as  I  suppose,  about  three  foot  long,  which  I  labored  to  catch  into  mv 
arms.     But  suddenly  I  was  overwhelmed  with  water,  and  driven  to 


250  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

and  fro  again,  and  at  last  I  felt  the  ground  with  my  right  foot.  When 
immediately,  whilst  I  was  thus  grovelling  on  my  face,  I,  presently 
recovering  my  feet,  was  in  the  water  up  to  my  breast,  and  through 
God's  great  mercy  had  my  face  unto  the  shore,  and  not  to  the  sea.  I 
made  haste  to  get  out,  but  was  thrown  down  on  my  hands  with  the 
waves,  and  so  with  safety  crept  to  the  dry  shore,  where,  blessing 
God,  I  turned  about  to  look  for  my  children  and  friends,  but  saw 
neither,  nor  any  part  of  the  pinnace,  where  I  left  them,  as  I  supposed. 
But  I  saw  my  wife,  about  a  butt  length  from  me,  getting  herself  forth 
from  amongst  the  timber  of  the  broken  bark ;  but  before  I  could  get 
unto  her,  she  was  gotten  to  the  shore.  I  was  in  the  water,  after  I 
was  washed  from  the  rock,  before  1  came  to  the  shore,  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  at  least. 

When  we  were  come  each  to  other,  we  went  and  sat  under  tlie 
bank.  But  fear  of  the  seas'  roaring,  and  our  coldness,  would  not 
suffer  us  there  to  remain.  But  we  went  iip  into  the  land,  and  sat  us 
down  under  a  cedar-tree,  which  the  wind  had  thrown  down,  where 
we^  sat  about  an  hour,  almost  dead  with  cold.  But  now  the  storm 
was  broken  up,  and  the  wind  was  calm  ;  but  the  sea  remained  rough 
and  fearful  to  us.  My  legs  were  much  bruised,  and  so  was  my  head. 
Other  hurt  had  I  none,  neither  had  I  taken  in  much  quantity  of 
water.  But  my  heart  would  not  let  me  sit  still  any  longer  ;  but  I 
would  go  to  see  if  any  more  were  gotten  to  the  land  in  safety,  espe- 
cially hoping  to  have  met  with  some  of  ray  own  poor  children;  but  I 
could  find  none,  neither  dead  nor  yet  living. 

You  condole  with  me  my  miseries,  who  now  began  to  consider  of 
my  losses.  Now  came  to  my  remembrance  the  time  and  manner  how 
and  when  I  last  saw  and  left  my  children  and  friends.  One  was 
severed  from  me  sitting  on  the  rock  at  my  feet,  the  other  three  in  the 
pinnace  ;  my  little  babe  (ah,  poor  Peter!)  sitting  in  his  sister  Edith's 
arms,  who  to  the  uttermost  of  her  power  sheltered  him  from  the 
waters  ;  my  poor  William  standing  close  unto  them,  all  three  of  them 
looking  ruefully  on  me  on  the  rock,  their  very  countenances  calling 
unto  me  to  help  them ;  whom  I  could  not  go  unto,  neither  could  they 
come  at  me,  neither  would  the  merciless  waves  afford  me  space  or 
time  to  use  any  means  at  all,  either  to  help  them  or  myself.  Oh,  I 
yet  see  their  cheeks,  poor  silent  lambs,  pleading  pity  and  help  at  my 
hands.  Then,  on  the  other  side,  to  consider  tlie  loss  of  my  dear 
friends,  with  tlie  spoiling  and  loss  of  all  our  goods  and  provisions, 
myself  cast  upon  an  unknown  land,  in  a  wilderness,  I  knew  not 


TIIACIIER'S   ISLAND.  251 

where  nor  how  to  get  thence.  Then  it  came  to  my  mind  how  I  had 
occasioned  the  death  of  my  children,  who  caused  them  to  leave  their 
native  land,  who  might  have  left  them  there,  yea,  and  might  have 
sent  some  of  them  back  again,  and  cost  me  nothing.  These  and  such 
like  thoughts  do  press  down  my  heavy  heart  very  much. 

But  I  must  let  this  pass,  and  will  proceed  on  in  the  relation  of 
God's  goodness  unto  me  in  that  desolate  island,  on  which  I  was  cast. 
I  and  my  wife  were  almost  nakedj_  both  of  us,  and  wet  and  cold  even 
unto  death.  1  found  a  snapsack  cast  on  the  shore,  in  which  I  had  a 
steel,  and  flint,  and  powder-horn.  Going  farther,  I  found  a  drowned 
goat ;  then  I  found  a  hat,  and  my  son  William's  coat,  both  which 
I  put  on.  My  wife  found  one  of  her  petticoats,  which  she  put  on.  I 
found  also  two  cheeses  and  some  butter  driven  ashore.  Thus  the 
Lord  sent  us  some  clothes  to  put  on,  and  food  to  sustain  our  new 
lives,  which  we  had  lately  given  unto  us,  and  means  also  to  make 
tire  ;  for  in  a  horn  I  had  some  gunpowder,  which,  to  mine  own,  and 
since  to  other  men's  admiration,  was  dry.  So  taking  a  piece  of  my 
wife's  neckcloth  which  I  dried  in  the  sun,  1  struck  tire,  and  so  dried 
and  warmed  our  wet  bodies  ;  and  then  skinned  the  goat,  and  having 
found  a  small  brass  pot,  we  boiled  some  of  her.  Our  drink  was 
brackish  water  ;  bread  we  had  none. 

There  Ave  remained  until  the  Monday  following  ;  when,  about 
three  of  the  clock  in  the  afternoon,  in  a  boat  that  came  that  way,  we 
went  off  that  desolate  island,  which  I  named  after  my  name,  Thacher's 
Woe,  and  the  rock,  Avery  his  Fall,  to  the  end  that  their  fall  and  loss, 
and  mine  own,  might  be  had  in  perpetual  remembrance.  In  the  isle 
lieth  buried  the  body  of  my  cousin's  eldest  daughter,  whom  I  found 
dead  on  the  shore.  On  the  Tuesday  following,  in  the  afternoon,  we 
arriA-ed  at  Marblehead. 

Such  an  event  would  naturally  have  its  poetic,  pendant.  Tlie 
simple  pathos  of  the  prose  narrative  may  now  he  contrasted 
with  the  chaste  beauty  of  Whittier's  "  Swan  Song  of  Parson 
Avery,"  which  turns  upon  the  popular  fallacy  that  the  swan 
pours  forth  its  expiring  breath  in  song. 


252  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

THE   SWAN   SONG   OF   PARSON  AVERY. 

J.    G.    WHITTIER. 

When  the  reaper's  task  was  ended,  and  the  summer  wearing  late, 
Parson   Avery   sailed  from    Newbury,  with   his   wife   and  children 

eight, 
Dropping  down  the  river-harbor  in  the  shallop  "  "Watcli  and  Wait." 


All  day  they  sailed  :  at  nightfall  the  jjleasant  land-breeze  died, 
The  blackening  sky,  at  midnight,  its  starry  lights  denied, 
And  i'ar  and  low  the  thunder  of  tempest  prophesied  ! 


All  at  once  ihe  great  cloud  parted,  like  a  curtain  drawn  aside, 
To  let  down  the  torch  of  lightning  on  the  terror  far  and  wide  ; 
And  the  thunder  and  the  whirlwind  together  smote  the  tide. 

There  was  waiUng  in  the  shallop,  woman's  wail  and  man's  despair, 
A  crash  of  breaking  timbers  on  the  rocks  so  sharp  and  bare. 
And,  through  it  all,  the  murmur  of  Father  Avery's  prayer. 


"  In  this  night  of  death  I  challenge  the  promise  of  thy  word  !  — 
Let  me  see  the  great  salvation  of  which  mine  ears  have  heard  I  — 
Let  me  pass  from  hence  forgiven,  through  the  grace  of  Christ,  our 
Lord ! " 

When  the  Christian  sings  his  death-song,  all  the  listening  heavens 

draw  near, 
And  the  angels,  leaning  over  the  walls  of  crystal,  hear 
How  the  notes  so  faint  and  broken  swell  to  music  in  God's  ear. 

The  ear  of  God  was  open  to  his  servant's  last  request  ; 

As  the  strong  wave  swe])t  him  downward  the  sweet  h}-mn  upward 

pressed, 
And  the  soul  of  Father  Averj-  went,  singing,  to  its  rest. 


THE    SPEGTEE    LEAGUEKS.  253 


THE   SPECTRE   LEAGUERS. 

THE  fatal  year  1692,  in  which  the  witchcraft  terrorism  so 
thoroughly  permeated  things  mundane,  has  one  ludicrous 
chapter  to  redeem  it  from  utter  fatuity. 

It  is  gravely  told  in  the  "  Magnalia  Christi "  of  Cotton  Mather, 
and  on  the  authority  of  the  Keverend  John  Emerson,  of  Glou- 
cester, how  a  number  of  rollicking  apparitions,  dressed  like  gentle- 
men, in  white  waistcoats  and  breeches,  kept  that  and  the  neigh- 
boring towns  in  a  state  of  feverish  excitement  and  alarm  for  a 
whole  fortnight  together.  And  neither  of  the  reverend  persons 
named  seems  to  have  entertained  a  doubt  that  these  unaccount- 
able molestations  were  caused  by  the  Devil  and  his  agents  in 
propria  persona,  who  took  the  human  form  for  the  better  exe- 
cution of  their  deep  design.  It  is  not  very  clear  what  that  de- 
sign was.  The  spectres,  if  such  they  were,  —  and  as  it  would 
be  unpardonable  in  us  to  doubt,  —  appear  to  have  been  a  harm- 
less sort  of  folk  enough,  for  they  did  no  injury  either  to  the  per- 
sons or  the  property  of  the  inhabitants,  thus  laying  their  natural 
propensities  under  a  commendable  restraint.  But  the  fact  that 
they  were  spirits,  and  no  ordinary  spirits  at  that,  being  so  con- 
fidently vouched  for,  and  by  such  high  authority  on  such  mat- 
ters as  Dr.  Cotton  Mather,  would  seem  to  dispose  of  all  doubt 
upon  the  subject.  Should  any,  however,  remain  in  the  reader's 
mind  after  perusing  the  following  account,  he  is  reminded  that 
what  he  has  read  is  the  sworn  evidence  of  men  who  actually 
fought  with,  and  on  more  than  one  occasion  disgracefully  routed 
and  drove  the  invading  demons  before  them  into  dark  swamps 
and  thickets.  These  witnesses  are  all  persons  of  character  and 
credibility.  Moreover,  their  testimony  remains  unshaken  by  any 
subsequent  revelations  to  this  day.  The  reader  may  therefore 
depend  upon  the  authoritative  character  of  the  narrative. 


254  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

In  the  midsummer  time,  in  the  year  1692,  of  fatal  memory, 
Ebenezer  Babson,  a  sturdy  yeoman  of  Cape  Ann,  with  the  rest 
of  his  family,  almost  every  night  heard  noises  as  if  some  persons 
were  walking  or  running  hither  and  thither  about  the  house. 
He  being  out  late  one  night,  when  returning  home  saw  two  men 
come  out  of  his  own  door,  and  then  at  sight  of  him  run  swiftly 
from  the  end  of  the  house  into  the  adjoining  cornfield.  Going 
in,  he  immediately  questioned  his  family  concerning  these 
strange  visitors.  They  promptly  replied  that  no  one  at  all  had 
been  there  during  his  absence.  Staggered  by  this  denial,  but 
being  withal  a  very  resolute,  stout-hearted  man,  Babson  seized 
his  gun  and  went  out  in  pursuit  of  the  intruders.  When  he  had 
gone  a  little  way  from  the  house,  he  saw  the  same  men  suddenly 
start  up  from  behind  a  log  and  run  into  a  swamp  that  was  near 
by.  He  also  overheard  one  say  to  the  other,  "  The  man  of  the 
house  is  now  come,  else  we  might  have  taken  the  house."  Then 
he  lost  sight  of  them. 

Upon  this,  expecting  an  immediate  attack,  the  whole  family 
rose  in  consternation,  and  went  with  all  haste  to  the  nearest 
garrison,  which  was  only  a  short  distance  off.  They  had  only 
just  entered  it  when  they  heard  heavy  footfalls,  as  if  a  number 
of  men  were  trampling  on  the  ground  around  it.  Then  Babson 
again  took  his  gun  and  ran  out,  and  he  again  saw  the  two  men 
running  away  down  the  hill  into  the  swamp.  By  this  time 
no  one  doubted  that  they  were  threatened  with  an  Indian  for- 
ray,  that  these  men  were  the  enemy's  scouts,  and  that  the 
danger  was  imminent. 

The  next  night  but  one,  Babson,  for  the  third  time,  saw  two 
men,  who  he  thought  looked  like  Frenchmen,  one  of  them  hav- 
ing a  bright  gun,  such  as  the  French  Canadians  used,  slung  on 
his  back.  Both  of  them  started  towards  him  at  the  top  of  their 
speed ;  but  Babson,  taking  to  his  heels,  made  good  his  escape 
into  the  garrison,  and  so  eluded  them.  When  he  had  got  safely 
in,  the  noise  of  men  moving  about  on  the  outside  was  again 
distinctly  heard.  Not  long  after  these  strange  things  had  taken 
place,  Babson,  with  another  man,  named  John  Brown,  saw  three 


THE    SPECTllE    LEAGUEES. 


255 


men  (the  number,  like  Falstaff' s  men  in  buckram,  had  now  in- 
creased to  three),  whom  they  tried  hard  to  get  a  shot  at,  but  did 
not,  owing  to  the  strangers'  dodging  about  in  so  lively  a  manner 
that  they  could  not  take  aim.  For  two  or  three  nights  these 
men,  or  devils  in  the  form  of  men,  continued  to  appear  in  the 
same  mysterious  way,  for  the  purpose  of  drawing  the  Cape  men 
out  into  a  wild-goose  chase  after  them.  On  July  14,  Babson, 
Brown,  and  all  the  garrison  saw  within  gunshot  of  them  half-a- 
dozen  men,  whom  they  supposed  to  be  reconnoitring,  or  trying 


A  SORTIE   UPON   THE   DEMONS. 


to  decoy  them  into  an  ambush.  The  brave  garrison  at  once 
saUied  out  in  hot  pursuit.  Babson,  who  seems  to  have  ever 
sought  the  forefront  of  battle,  presently  overtook  two  of  the 
skulking  vagabonds,  took  good  aim,  and  pidled  the  trigger ;  but 
his  trusty  gun  missed  fire,  and  they  got  away  and  hid  them- 
selves among  the  bushes.  He  then  called  out  to  his  comrades, 
who  immediately  answered,  "  Here  they  are  !  here  they  are  ! " 
when  Babson,  running  to  meet  them,  saw  three  men  stealing  out 
of  the  swamp  side  by  side.  Bringing  his  gun  to  his  shoulder, 
with  sure  aim  this  time  he  fired ;  when  all  three  feU  as  if  shot. 


256  IsE\Y-EXGLA>fD    LEGENDS. 

Almost  beside  himself,  Babson  cried  out  to  his  companions  that 
he  had  killed  three.  But  when  he  was  come  nearly  up  to  the 
supposed  dead  men,  they  all  rose  up  and  ran  away,  apparently 
without  hurt  or  Avound  of  any  kind.  Indeed  one  of  them  gave 
Bahson  a  shot  in  return  for  his  own,  the  bullet  narrowly  miss- 
inc  liim,  and  burying  itself  in  a  tree,  from  which  it  was  after- 
ward dug  out,  and  preserved  as  a  trophy  of  the  combat.  Babson 
thinking  this  warm  work,  took  refuge  behind  a  tree  and  reloaded. 
Then,  his  comrades  having  joined  him,  they  aU  charged  together 
upon  the  spot  where  the  fugitives  lay  concealed.  Again  the 
spectres  started  up  before  their  eyes  and  ran,  "every  man  his 
way."  One,  however,  they  surrounded  and  hemmed  in,  and 
Babson,  getting  a  fair  shot  at  him,  saw  him  drop.  But  when 
search  was  made,  the  dead  body  had  vanished.  After  a  fruit- 
less hunt,  during  which  the  stout-hearted  Colonists  heard  a  loud 
talking  going  on  in  the  swamp,  in  some  outlandish  jargon  they 
could  not  understand  a  Avord  of,  they  returned,  crestfallen  and 
half  dead  with  fatigue,  to  the  garrison,  in  order  to  report  their 
ill-success.  But  no  sooner  were  they  back  there,  than  they  saw 
more  men  skulking  among  the  bushes,  who  prudently  kept  out 
of  gunshot.     What  could  it  all  mean] 

The  next  morning  Babson  started  to  go  over  to  the  harbor  in 
order  to  give  the  alarm  there,  for  it  was  not  doubted  by  any  one 
that  an  attack  was  imminent.  While  on  his  way  thither  he 
was  waylaid  and  fired  at  by  the  "unaccountable  troublers,"  who, 
strange  to  say,  loaded  their  guns  with  real  buUets,  as  poor  Bab- 
son Avas  near  finding  out  to  his  cost.  Having  procured  help, 
the  neighborhood  Avas  scoured  for  traces  of  the  attacking  party, 
tAvo  of  Avhom  were  seen,  but  not  being  mortal  flesh  and  blood, 
could  not  be  harmed  by  lead  or  steel. 

In  the  course  of  a  feAv  days  more,  two  of  the  garrison  went 
out  upon  a  scout,  who  saw  several  men  come  out  of  an  orchard, 
in  Avhich  they  seemed  to  be  performing  some  strange  incanta- 
tions. They  counted  eleven  of  them.  Eichard  Dolliver  raised 
his  gun  and  fired  into  the  midst  of  them,  where  they  stood  the 
thickest ;  but  of  course  without  other  effect  than  to  make  them 
scatter  as  before. 


THE    SPECTRE   LEAGUERS.  257 

It  now  being  clear  that  the  strange  visitors  bore  a  charmed 
life,  and  that  the  Cape  was  in  great  peril  from  this  diabolical 
invasion,  the  end  of  which  no  man  could  foresee,  the  aid  of  the 
surrounding  towns  was  invoked  in  this  truly  alarming  crisis. 
A  reinforcement  of  sixty  men  from  Ipswich,  led  by  Captain  Ap- 
pleton,  coming  promptly  to  the  rescue,  gave  the  garrison  much 
encouragement,  beleaguered  round  as  they  were  by  the  Powers 
of  Darkness,  against  which  lead  and  steel  were  of  no  more  efl'ect 
than  snowballs  or  rushes  would  have  been.  For  a  fortnight 
they  had  been  kept  in  continual  alarm,  night  and  day.  The 
infernal  visitants  showed  themselves  first  in  one  place  and  then 
in  another,  to  draw  out  and  harass  them,  until  a  foeman  seemed 
lurking  in  every  bush.  Though  repeatedly  shot  at,  none  could 
be  killed.  They  threw  stones,  beat  upon  barns  with  clubs,  and 
otherwise  acted  more  in  the  spirit  of  diabolical  revelry  than  as 
if  actuated  by  any  deadlier  purpose.  They  moved  about  the 
swamps  without  leaving  any  tracks,  like  ordinary  beings.  In 
short,  it  was  evident  that  such  adversaries  as  these  were,  must 
be  fought  with  other  weapons  besides  matchlocks  and  broad- 
swords ;  consequently  a  strange  fear  fell  upon  the  Cape. 

Finally  they  became  still  more  insolently  bold,  and  so  far 
from  showing  the  same  cowardly  disposition  to  take  to  their 
heels  whenever  they  were  chased,  they  now  treated  their  pur- 
suers with  open  contempt.  For  instance,  seeing  three  of  the 
unknown  approaching  him  one  morning,  walking  slowly  and 
apparently  unmindful  of  any  danger,  Babson  ensconced  himself 
behind  some  bushes  to  lie  in  wait  for  them.  He  held  his  fire 
until  they  were  come  within  a  stone's  throw  before  he  pulled 
the  trigger.  But  to  his  unspeakable  dismay  his  gun  flashed  in 
the  pan,  though  he  repeatedly  snapped  it  at  the  phantoms,  who 
took  no  other  notice  of  him  than  to  give  him  a  disdainful  look 
as  they  walked  by.  Yet  he  soon  afterward  snapped  the  same 
gun  several  times  in  succession,  and  it  never  once  missed  fire. 
The  goblins  had  charmed  it ! 

It  being  settled  that  these  insults  proceeded  from  spectres,  and 
not  from  beings  who  were  vulnerable  to  weapons  of  mortal  make, 
17 


258  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

the  unequal  contest  was  abandoned.  When  tins  was  done,  the 
demons'  occupation  being  gone,  they  too  disappeared. 

It  should  be  said  in  conclusion,  and  on  the  same  authority 
as  that  to  which  we  owe  the  narration,  that  the  most  conserva- 
tive minds  regarded  these  occurrences  as  a  part  of  the  descent 
from  the  invisible  world  then  menacing  the  peace  of  the  Colony, 
and  threatening  the  churches  therein  with  irretrievable  disaster. 

The  poetic  version  of  this  legend  opens  with  a  glimpse  of  the 
scene  that  is  itself  worth  a  whole  chapter  of  description.  We 
are  then  introduced  to  the  Colonial  garrison-house,  rudely  but 
strongly  built,  to  protect  the  settlers  from  their  savage  foes,  and 
to  its  valiant  defenders,  who  with  their  useless  arms  in  their 
hands  await  in  dread  the  assault  of  the  demons.  Mr.  "VVhittier, 
be  it  said,  is  seldom  happier  than  when  dealing  with  the  legend- 
ary lore  extracted  from  the  old  chronicles.  In  him  the  spirit 
of  an  antiquary  and  the  feeling  of  the  poet  exist  in  as  amiable 
fellowship  as  they  did  in  Sir  Walter  Scott,  who  ransacked  the 
legends  of  Scotland  for  his  tales  in  prose  or  verse. 

THE   GARRISON   OF   CAPE  ANN. 

J.    G.    WHITTIER. 

Where  the  sea-waves  back  and  forward,  hoarse  with  rolling  pebbles, 

ran, 
The  garrison-house  stood  watching  on  the  gray  rocks  of  Cape  Ann  ; 
On  its  windy  site  uplifting  gabled  roof  and  palisade. 
And  rough  walls  of  unhewn  timber  with  the  moonbght  overlaid. 

Before  the  deep-mouthed  chinniey,  dimly  lit  by  dying  lirands, 
Twenty  soldiers  sat  and  waited,  with  their  muskets  in  their  hands  ; 
On  the  rough-hewn  oaken  table  the  venison  haunch  was  shared. 
And  the  pewter  tankard  circled  slowly  round  from  beard  to  beard. 

But  their  voices  sank  yet  lower,  sank  to  husky  tones  of  fear. 
As  they  spake  of  present  tokens  of  the  powers  of  evil  near  ; 
Of  a  spectral  host,  defying  stroke  of  steel  and  aim  of  gun  ; 
Never  yet  was  ball  to  slay  them  in  the  mould  of  mortals  run  ! 


OLD    MEG,   THE   WITCH.  259 

Midnight  came ;  from  out  the  forest  moved  a  dusky  mass  that  soon 
Grew  to  warriors,  pluiued  and  painted,  grimly  marching  in  the  moon. 
"  Ghosts  or  witches,"  said  the  captain,  "  thus  I  foil  the  Evil  One !  " 
And  he  rammed  a  silver  button,  from  his  doublet,  down  his  gun. 

"  God  preserve  us  !  "  said  the  captain  ;  "  never  mortal  foes  were  there ; 
They  have  vanished  with  their  leader.  Prince  and  Power  of  the  air  ! 
Lay  aside  your  useless  weapons  ;  skill  and  prowess  naught  avail  ; 
They  who  do  the  Devil's  service  wear  their  master's  coat  of  mail  !  " 

So  the  night  grew  near  to  cock-crow,  when  again  a  warning  call 
Roused  the  score  of  weary  soldiers  watching  round  the  dusky  hall ; 
And  they  looked  to  flint  and  priming,  and  they  longed  for  break  of 

day  ; 
But  the  captain  closed  his  Bible  :    "  Let  us  cease  from  man,  and 

pray  ! " 

To  the  men  who  went  before  us,  all  the  unseen  powers  seemed  near, 
And  their  steadfast  strength  of  courage  struck  its  roots  in  holy  fear. 
Every  hand  forsook  the  musket,  every  head  was  bowed  and  bare. 
Every  stout  knee  pressed  the  flagstones,  as  the  captain  led  in  prayer. 

Ceased  thereat  the  mystic  marching  of  the  spectres  round  the  wall. 
But  a  sound  abhorred,  unearthly,  smote  the  ears  and  hearts  of  all,  — 
Howls  of  rage  and  shrieks  of  anguish  !    Never  after  mortal  man 
Saw  the  ghostly  leaguers  marching  round  the  blockhouse  of  Cape 
Ann. 


OLD   MEG,   THE   WITCH. 

WE  can  easily  bring  the  age  of  credulity  as  far  forward  as 
the  middle  of  the  last  century,  by  means  of  a  local 
legend  in  which  mediseval  superstition  respecting  witches  sur- 
vives in  full  vigor.  The  test  of  the  silver  bullet  recalls  the 
weird  incantation  scene  in  "  Der  Freischiitz,"  and  all  the  demon 
lore  associated  with  the  gloomy  depths  of  the  Hartz. 


260  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

There  was  a  reputed  witch  by  the  name  of  Margaret  Wesson, 
and  familiarly  known  by  the  name  of  "Old  Meg,"  who  once 
resided  in  Gloucester.  After  having  been  for  many  years  the 
object  of  superstitious  curiosity  and  dread  to  the  inhabitants  of 
the  Cape,  she  at  length  came  to  her  end  in  the  following  strange 
and  mysterious  manner.  At  the  time  of  the  celebrated  victorious 
siege  of  Louisburg  by  the  Colonial  troops  in  1745,  two  soldiers 
of  the  Massachusetts  line  belonging  to  Gloucester  happened  to 
have  their  attention  drawn  to  the  movements  of  a  crow  that 
kept  hovering  over  them.  They  threw  stones,  and  then  fired 
their  muskets  at  it,  but  could  neither  touch  nor  terrify  it ;  the 
bird  still  continued  flying  round  them  and  cawing  horribly  in 
their  ears.  At  length  it  occurred  to  one  of  them  that  it  might 
be  Old  Meg.  He  communicated  his  suspicions  to  his  comrade ; 
and  as  nothing  but  silver  was  believed  to  have  any  power  to 
injure  a  witch,  they  cut  the  silver  buttons  off  from  their  uni- 
form coats  and  discharged  them  at  the  crow.  The  experiment 
succeeded.  At  the  first  shot  they  broke  its  leg ;  at  the  second 
it  fell  dead  at  their  feet.  AVhen  they  returned  to  Gloucester, 
they  learned  that  Old  Meg  had  broken  her  leg  while  walking 
by  the  fort  in  that  place  at  the  precise  time  when  they  had  shot 
and  killed  the  crow  five  hundred  miles  distant ;  after  lingering 
for  a  while  in  great  agony  she  died.  And  now  comes  the  sin- 
gular part  of  the  story  ;  for  upon  examining  her  fractured  limb, 
the  identical  silver  buttons  which  the  soldiers  had  fired  from 
their  muskets  under  the  walls  of  Louisburg  were  extracted  from 
the  flesh.  The  story  of  Old  Meg  was  long  familiarly  told  in 
Gloucester,  although  the  credulity  which  once  received  it  as 
solemn  truth  has  nearly,  if  not  quite,  passed  away,  says  the 
Eeverend  Charles  W.  Upham,  who  makes  the  statement  so 
lately  as  1832.  It  has,  however,  been  reproduced  among  the 
sober  records  of  fact  contained  in  Mr.  Babson's  "History  of 
Gloucester." 


AN  ESCAPE  FROM  PIRATES.  261 


AN   ESCAPE   FROM   PIRATES. 

ACCORDING  to  the  historian  Thucytlides,  the  Greeks  were 
the  first  pirates.  The  ancient  poets  tell  us  that  those 
who  sailed  along  the  coasts  in  quest  of  prey  were  everywhere 
accosted  with  the  question,  "  whether  they  were  pirates,"  not  as 
a  term  of  reproach,  but  of  honor.  So  also  the  vikings  of  the 
North  were  little  less  than  corsairs,  whose  valiant  deeds  of  arms, 
and  whose  adventurous  voyages  to  distant  lands,  celebrated  in 
their  sao'as,  were  conceived  and  performed  with  no  nobler  pur- 
pose than  robbery. 

But  the  modern  pirate  had  neither  the  rude  sense  of  honor 
nor  the  chivalrous  notions  of  warfare  distinguishing  his  ancient 
prototype.  He  was  simply  a  robber  and  a  murderer,  bidding  all 
honest  traders  to  "  stand  and  deliver  "  like  the  aquatic  highway- 
man that  he  was.  Even  the  mildest-mannered  man  among  them 
"that  ever  scuttled  ship  or  cut  a  throat"  was  no  more  than 
this  ;  Avhile  the  majority  were  beings  fitted  by  nature  for  a  career 
of  crime,  the  bare  recital  of  which  makes  us  shudder. 

During  the  first  quarter  of  the  eighteenth  century  our  own 
seas  swarmed  with  these  freebooters,  whose  depredations  upon 
our  commerce  are  the  theme  of  some  of  the  most  startling  epi- 
sodes preserved  in  the  whole  annals  of  piracy.  Blackbeard,  Low, 
and  Phillips  stand  pre-eminent  at  the  head  of  this  black  list. 
It  is  with  the  last  that  our  story  has  to  do. 

In  the  course  of  his  last  piratical  cruise,  during  which  he 
swept  the  coast  from  Jamaica  to  Newfoundland,  Phillips  fell  in 
with  and  captured  the  sloop  "Dolphin,"  Andrew  Harraden, 
master,  belonging  to  Cape  Ann.  The  "  Dolphin,"  being  a  bet- 
ter vessel  than  his  own,  the  pirate  transferred  his  black  flag  to 
her,  sending  the  crew  away  in  another  of  his  prizes.  Captain 
Harraden  was,  however,  detained  a  prisoner  on  board  his  own 


262  NEW-EXGLAND    LEGENDS. 

vessel.  Two  of  the  pirate  crew,  John  Fillmore,  of  Ipswich,  and 
Edward  Cheesman  were  men  whom  Phillips  had  taken  out  of 
the  ships  that  he  had  plundered  and  pressed  into  his  service, 
thus  making  them  pirates  against  their  will.  Being  found  use- 
ful, Cheesman  had  been  promoted  to  the  post  of  ship's  carpenter 
shortly  before  the  "  Dolphin"  was  captured.  Both  he  and  Fill- 
more, however,  were  brave  young  fellows,  and  both  had  fully 
determined,  come  what  might,  to  take  the  first  opportunity 
that  presented  itself  of  escaping  from  PhiUips'  clutches  ;  but  the 
jealous  Avatchfulness  of  the  older  pirates  was  such  that  they 
could  get  no  opportunity  of  talking  to  each  other  about  what 
was  in  their  minds,  except  when  feigning  to  be  asleep,  or  when 
pretending  to  play  at  cards  together.  But  by  stealth  they  at 
length  came  to  an  understanding. 

To  Captain  Harraden  these  two  presently  broached  their  pur- 
pose ;  and  tinding  him  ready  and  willing  to  strike  a  blow  for  the 
recovery  of  his  vessel  and  his  liberty,  they  with  four  confeder- 
ates, who  were  already  pledged  to  stand  by  them,  fixed  the  day 
and  the  hour  for  making  the  hazardous  attempt. 

When  the  appointed  hour  of  noon  had  arrived,  Cheesman,  the 
leader,  with  Fillmore  and  Harraden,  were  on  deck,  as  also  were 
Xut,  the  master  of  the  "  Dolphin,"  a  fellow  of  great  strength 
and  courage,  the  boatswain,  and  some  others  of  the  pirate  crew. 
But  of  all  on  board.  Nut  and  the  boatswain  were  the  two  whom 
the  conspirators  most  feared  to  encounter.  Cheesman,  however, 
promised  to  take  care  of  the  master  if  the  others  would  attend 
to  the  boatswain.  No  firearms  were  to  be  used.  The  attack 
was  to  be  suddenly  made,  and  possession  of  the  deck  to  be 
gained,  before  the  alarm  should  spread  below. 

Cheesman,  having  left  his  Avorking  tools  on  the  deck,  as  if  he 
were  going  to  use  them  about  the  vessel,  walked  aft  to  begin 
with  the  master ;  but  seeing  some  signs  of  timidity  in  Harraden, 
he  came  back,  gave  him  and  his  mates  a  dram  of  brandy  each, 
drinking  to  the  boatswain  and  the  master  the  toast,  "  To  our 
next  merry-meeting."  He  then  took  a  turn  up  and  down  the 
deck  with  Nut,  in  order  to  occupy  the  pirate's  attention,  while 


nokman's  woe.  263 

Fillmore,  as  if  in  sport,  picked  up  the  carpenter's  axe  from  where 
it  was  lying,  and  began  to  twirl  it  around  on  the  point. 

This  was  the  signal  agreed  upon.  Cheesman  instantly  grap- 
pled with  the  master,  and,  being  a  man  of  powerful  frame,  after 
a  brief  struggle  pitched  him  over  the  side  into  the  sea.  Fill- 
more, rushing  upon  the  boatswain,  with  one  blow  of  the  axe 
laid  him  dead  upon  the  deck.  The  noise  of  the  scuffle  brought 
the  pirate  chief  on  deck  ;  but  Cheesman  quickly  disabled  him 
with  a  blow  from  the  carpenter's  maUet,  which  fractured  his  jaw- 
bone. Having  armed  himself  with  an  adze,  Harraden  tlien 
sprang  upon  Phillips  with  his  uplifted  weapon ;  but  the  gunner 
of  the  pirate  interposing  between  them,  Cheesman  tripped  up 
his  heels,  throwing  him  into  the  arms  of  a  confederate,  who 
flung  him  overboard,  after  the  master.  Harraden  then  finished 
with  Phillips. 

The  conspirators  then  jumped  into  the  hold  and  fell  upon 
the  quartermaster,  Avho  was  the  only  officer  remaining  alive  ; 
when  a  young  lad  on  board  pleaded  so  earnestly  for  his  life  that 
he  was  spared.  The  rest  of  the  pirate  crew  being  securely  put 
in  irons,  the  vessel  was  steered  directly  for  Boston,  where  she 
arrived  on  the  3d  of  May,  1724,  to  the  great  joy  of  the  people  of 
the  province.  Two  of  the  Pirates,  Archer,  the  quartermaster, 
and  WilUam  White,  were  tried,  convicted,  and  executed.  Fill- 
more, Cheesman,  and  their  confederates  were  honorably  acquit- 
ted. John  Fillmore,  the  pirate  in  spite  of  himself,  was  the 
great-grandfather  of  the  thirteenth  President  of  the  United 
States. 


NORMAN'S   WOE. 

OUCHING  the  name  of  the  rock  called  Norman's  Woe, 

Httle  more  is  known  than  that  Goodman  Norman  and  his 

son  were  among  the  first  to  settle  here ;  and  it  is  therefore  as- 
sumed that  this  headland  and  its  outlying  islet  preserve  a  family 


T 


264 


NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 


surname  at  once  bold  and  picturesque.  That  no  record  is  known, 
to  explain  how  the  rock  originally  received  its  name,  or  what  the 
catastrophe  it  \vas  intended  to  perpetuate,  is  only  another  in- 
stance of  the  instability  of  local  traditions.  Many  of  the  names 
now  in  use  on  Cape  Ann  go  as  far  back  as  the  first  decade  of  the 
settlement.  For  instance,  Kettle  Island  and  Baker's  Island  were 
named  before  1634.  This  one,  like  Thacher's  Island,  is  pro- 
bably commemorative  of  some  uncommon  individual  experience 
or  disaster;  but  whatever  that  may  have  been,  its  memory  is 
probably  lost  beyond  recovery. 


NORMAN  S   WOE   KOCK. 


Not  lost  its  claim  to  a  wider  celebrity  than  some  of  our  most 
famous  battlefields,  for  it  is  the  scene  so  vividly  described  in 
Longfellow's  "Wreck  of  the  'Hesperus.'" 

In  his  biographical  sketch  of  the  poet  Longfellow,  Mr.  Francis 
H.  Underwood  says  of  this  ballad  that  it  "  is  deservedly  ad- 
mired, especially  for  the  vigor  of  its  descriptions.  It  is,"  he 
continues,  "  in  truth  a  ballad  such  as  former  centuries  knew,  and 
which  are  seldom  ^^Titten  now.  Its  free  movement,  directness, 
and  pictorial  power  cond)ine  to  make  it  one  of  the  most  remark- 
able of  the  author's  poems." 


NORMAN'S   WOE.  265 

Yet  j\Ir.  Fields,  the  poet's  genial  friend  and  whilom  his  pub- 
lisher, says  that  the  "  Wreck  of  the  '  Hesperus '  "  hardly  caused 
its  author  an  effort.  The  facts  with  regard  to  its  composition 
are  these :  After  a  dreadful  gale  in  the  winter  of  1839,  which 
strewed  the  coast  with  wrecks,  he  had  been  reading  the  cata- 
logue of  its  disasters  Avith  which  the  newspapers  were  filled. 
The  stormy  Cape  had  reaped  its  full  share  of  this  terrible  har- 
vest. Forty  dead  bodies,  among  them  that  of  a  woman  lashed 
to  a  piece  of  wreck,  had  been  washed  up  on  the  Gloucester 
shore.  One  of  the  lost  vessels  was  named  the  "  Hesperus,"  and 
the  name  of  Norman's  Woe  now  met  his  eye,  —  perhaps  for  the 
first  time.  The  event  impressed  him  so  deeply  that  he  deter- 
mined to  write  a  ballad  upon  it.  Late  one  night  as  he  sat  by  the 
fire  smoking  his  pipe,  the  whole  scene  came  vividly  into  his 
mind ;  and  under  the  absorbing  impulse  of  the  moment,  taking 
his  pen,  he  wrote  this  most  graphic  of  ballads.  He  then  went  to 
bed,  but,  as  he  tells  us,  not  to  sleep  ;  for  new  thoughts  were  run- 
ning in  his  head  which  kept  him  awake.  He  rose  and  added 
them  to  the  first  draught.  At  three  in  the  morning  he  had  fin- 
ished the  ballad  as  it  stands. 

Although,  in  point  of  fact,  no  such  vessel  as  the  "  Hesperus" 
was  wrecked  on  the  reef  of  Norman's  W^oe,  the  poet's  versified 
story  is  founded  upon  a  real  incident,  to  which  the  use  of  these 
names  lends  a  terrible  interest.  In  one  sense,  therefore,  this 
ballad  belongs  to  the  legendary ;  but  by  the  poet's  genius  it  is 
now  firmly  associated  with  the  surf-beaten  rock  of  Cape  Ann, 
whose  name  of  terror,  derived  from  some  unrecorded  disaster, 
found  no  reason  for  its  being,  until  a  few  strokes  of  the  pen  gave 
it  immortality. 

From  being  merely  the  scene  of  a  wreck,  Norman's  Woe  has 
become  a  spot  consecrated  by  genius.  It  is,  therefore,  no  com- 
mon rock,  but  a  monument  to  Mr.  Longfellow  far  more  sug- 
gestive and  enduring  than  any  memorial  shaft  that  the  most 
reverent  hands  may  raise  over  his  honored  dust.  "  The  letter 
killeth,  but  the  spirit  giveth  life." 

The  ballad  is,  as  Mr.  Underwood  says,  written  in  the  quaint 


266  NEW-EXGLAXD   LEGENDS. 

old  manner ;  but  what  is  more  to  the  purpose,  it  has  the  genuine 
ring,  nervous  action,  sonorous  rhythm,  and  unmistakable  flavor 
of  the  sea  throughout.  Those  stanzas  descriptive  of  the  increas- 
ing fury  of  the  gale  have  never  been  surpassed  in  the  language. 

Colder  and  louder  blew  the  wind, 

A  gale  from  the  Northeasjt, 
The  snow  fell  hissing  in  the  brine, 

And  the  billows  frothed  like  yeast. 

Down  came  the  storm,  and  smote  amain 

The  vessel  in  its  strength  ; 
She  shuddered  and  paused,  Hke  a  frighted  steed. 

Then  leaped  her  cable's  length. 


And  fast  through  the  midnight  dark  and  drear. 
Through  the  whistling  sleet  and  snow, 

Like  a  sheeted  ghost,  the  vessel  swept 
Towards  the  Reef  of  Norman's  Woe. 


She  struck  where  the  white  and  fleecy  waves 

Looked  soft  as  carded  wool, 
But  the  cruel  rocks,  they  gored  her  sides 

Like  the  horns  of  an  angry  buU. 

Her  rattling  shrouds,  all  sheathed  in  ice. 
With  the  masts  went  by  the  board  ; 

Like  a  vessel  of  glass,  she  stove  and  sank. 
Ho  !  ho  !  the  breakers  roared  ! 

At  daybreak,  on  the  bleak  sea-beach, 

A  fisherman  stood  aghast, 
To  see  the  form  of  a  maiden  fair. 

Lashed  close  to  a  drifting  nuxst. 


HANNAH  BINDING   SHOES.  267 


HANNAH   BINDING   SHOES. 

"  Beverly  Farms,  Mass.,  Dec.  22,  1874. 

"Dear  Sir,  — As  to  'Hannah's'  locale,  it  is  hard  to  determine. 
I  used  to  see  her  at  all  the  windows  in  Beverly  when  I  was  a  little 
child  ;  but  I  saw  her  more  distinctly,  about  twenty  years  ago,  on 
the  road  between  Beverly  and  Marblehead.  I  think  she  lived  in  the 
latter  place  quite  as  much  as  at  the  former.  You  see  my  home  was 
in  Beverly,  and  we  Beverly  children  were  rather  afraid  of  the  ]\Iarble- 
headers  ;  they  had  the  reputation  of  '  rocking '  their  neighbors  out 
of  town.  I  suspect,  on  the  whole,  that  '  Hannah '  must  have  been 
a  tramp,  and  bound  shoes  anywhere  she  put  up.  ]\tr.  AVood,  who 
painted  her  picture,  says  he  was  shown  her  house  in  Marblehead,, 
and  he  ought  to  know. 

"  But  I  have  honestly  told  you  all  I  know  about  her,  except  as  a 
lodger  in  my  imagination. 

"  Sincerely  ashamed  of  my  ignorance,  I  am  truly  yours, 

"Lucy  Larcom." 

Poor  lone  Hannah, 
Sitting  at  the  window  binding  shoes ! 

Faded,  wrinkled. 

Sitting,  stitching  in  a  mournful  muse. 

Bright-eyed  beauty  once  was  she 

When  the  bloom  was  on  the  tree. 

Spring  and  winter 

Hannah  's  at  the  window  binding  shoes. 

Not  a  neighbor 
Passing  nod  or  answer  will  refuse 

To  her  whisper : 
"  Is  there  from  the  fishers  any  news  ? " 
Oh,  her  heart 's  adrift  with  one 

On  an  endless  voyage  gone  !  , 

Night  and  morning 
Hannah 's  at  the  window  binding  shoes. 


268  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

Fair  young  Hannah 
Ben,  the  sun-burnt  fisher  gayly  wooes 

Hale  and  clever, 
For  a  willing  heart  and  hand  he  sues. 


POOR  LONE   UANNAU. 


May-day  skies  are  all  aglow, 
And  the  waves  are  laughing  so ! 
For  her  wedding, 
Hannah  leaves  her  window  and  her  shoes. 


HANNAH   BINDING   SHOES.  269 

May  is  passing,  — 
Mid  the  ai^ple-boughs  a  pigeou  cooes. 

Hannah  shudders, 
For  the  wild  sou'-wester  mischief  brews. 
Kound  the  rocks  of  Marblehead, 
Outward  bound,  a  schooner  sped. 
Silent,  lonesome, 
Hannah  's  at  the  window  binding  shoes. 

'T  is  November : 
Now  no  tear  her  wasted  cheek  bedews. 

From  Newfoundland 
Not  a  sail  returning  will  she  lose  ; 
Whispering  hoarsely,  "  Fishermen, 
Have  you,  have  you  heard  of  Ben  ? " 
Old  with  watching, 
Hannah  's  at  the  window  bmding  shoes. 

Twenty  winters 
Bleach  and  tear  the  rugged  shore  she  views  ; 

Twenty  seasons  ;  — 

Never  one  has  brought  her  any  news. 

Still  her  dim  eyes  silently 

Chase  the  white  sails  o'er  the  sea. 

Hopeless,  faithful 

Hannah  's  at  the  window  binding  shoes. 


'W- 


IPSWICH    AND    NEWBUEY    LEGENDS. 


IPSWICH  LEGENDS. 


OLD  IPSWICH  is  one  of  the  most  delightful  comers  into 
which  the  artist  or  the  antiquary  could  have  the  good 
fortune  to  stray,  for  here  either  will  find  abundant  occupation. 
Its  physiognomy  is  old,  its  atmosphere  drowsy,  its  quiet  un- 
broken. The  best  residences  are  still  the  oldest  ones,  and  among 
them  are  some  very  quaint  specimens  of  the  early  Colonial  archi- 
tecture, upon  which  time  seems  to  have  made  little  impression  ; 
while  here  and  there  others  stand  up  mere  crazy  hulks,  so  shaken 
and  dilapidated  inside  and  out,  that  every  gale  threatens  to  bring 
them  down  with  a  loud  crash  into  the  cellars  beneath.  Some  of 
these  have  the  reputation  of  being  haunted  houses,  and  are  of 
course  enveloped  in  mystery,  —  and  indeed  the  whole  atmos- 
phere of  the  place  is  thick  with  legendary  lore,  which  the  old 
people  drop  their  voices  when  they  are  relating. 

To  me  now  there  is  no  more  striking  picture  than  that  of 
some  such  crazy  old  structure,  trembling,'  as  the  wind  shakes  it, 
like  an  old  man  with  the  palsy,  its  windows  gaping  wide,  its 
chimney  bent  and  tottering,  the  fire  on  its  hearthstone  extin- 
guished forever,  the  path  to  it  overgrown  with  weeds,  the  old 
well  choked  up  with  rubbish  and  poisonous  ivy,  — everything 
expressing  irretrievable  decay,  —  standing  in  the  midst  of  a  stdl 
vigorous  orchard  just  putting  forth  its  sweet  perennial  bloom, 
18 


274  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

■with  the  fresh  and  tender  grass  cr('e[)ing  up  to  tlie  broken 
threshold,  as  if  Nature  claimed  adujittauce,  and  would  not  be 
much  longer  denied.  That  house,  you  are  told,  was  built  two 
centuries  ar'o.  Where  are  the  builders ;  and  where  the  genera- 
tions that  came  after  them  1  The  old  well-sweep  creaks  mourn- 
fully in  the  wind,  and  points  its  bony  finger  to  the  sky.  Yet 
here  are  the  trees  that  they  planted,  still  putting  forth  their 
buds,  like  mortals  putting  on  immortality. 

It  is  natural,  I  think,  in  such  a  place  to  try  to  imagine  the 
first-comers  looking  about  them.  How  did  it  look  ;  what  did 
they  think  1  They  were  a  mere  handful,  —  the  apostolic  num- 
■ber,  —  a  vanguard  sent  to  establish  a  semi- military  post.  Upon 
ascending  the  hill  above  the  river  they  found  an  outcropping 
ledge  of  goodly  extent,  forming  a  sort  of  natural  platform,  and 
upon  this  rock  they  built  their  church,  which  subsequently  be- 
came so  famous  throughout  the  Colony  under  the  successive 
ministrations  of  Ward,  Eogers,  j^orton,  and  Hubbard,  —  all 
men  eminent  for  their  learning  and  piety.  Satan  himself  was 
■not  able  to  prevail  against  it ;  for  upon  the  smooth  ledge  out- 
side is  still  seen  the  distinct  print  of  his  sable  majesty's  cloven 
foot,  when  he  was  hurled  from  the  pinnacle  to  the  ground  for 
attempting  to  conceal  himself  -within  the  sanctuary. 

In  another  place,  down  by  the  river  side,  the  house  where 
Harry  Main  lived  is  pointed  out  to  tlie  visitor.  He  having  thus  a 
local  habitation,  the  legend  concerning  him  is  no  vagabond  tra- 
dition. Harry  Main  is  the  Wandering  Jew  of  Ipswich,  around 
■whom  darkly  hangs  the  shadow  of  an  unpardonalile  crime  and 
its  fearful  doom.  It  is  said  that  he  had  been  by  turns  a  pirate, 
a  smuggler,  and  a  wrecker,  who  folio w^ed  the  wicked  trade  of 
})uilding  fires  on  the  sands,  in  order  to  decoy  vessels  among 
the  breakers,  where  they  were  wrecked,  and  their  crews  perished 
miserably.  For  these  crimes,  at  his  death  he  ■was  doomed  to  be 
chained  on  Ipswich  Bar,  the  scene  of  his  former  nuirdcnius  ex- 
ploits, and  everlastingly  to  coil  a  cable  of  sand  tliere.  Wlien 
the  cable  broke,  his  demoniacal  yells  of  baffled  rage  could  be 
heard  for  miles  around  :    and  when    those    fearful   sounds  an- 


IPSWICH    LEGENDS. 


275 


nouuced  the  rising  gale,  mothers  would  clasp  their  babes  to  their 
breasts,  while  the  men  shook  their  heads  and  said,  "  Old  Harry  's 
growling  again  !  "  His  name  was  long  the  bugbear  used  to 
frighten  refractory  children  into  obedience,  while  the  rote  on 
the  bar,  heard  in  storms,  still  audibly  perpetuates  the  legend, 
with  its  roar. 

The  old  people  living  on  Plum  Island  used  to  say  that  Harry 


PADLOCK   AND    KEY,    IPSWICH   JAIL. 

Main's  ghost  troubled  them  by  wandering  about  the  sand-hills 
on  stormy  nights,  so  that  they  were  afraid  to  venture  out  of  doors 
after  dark.  Indeed  the  town  itself,  in  its  palmy  days,  was  so 
full  of  ghostly  legends,  that  certain  localities  supposed  to  be 
haunted°were  scrupulously  avoided  by  the  timid  ones,  who  had 
a  mortal  dread  of  being  accosted  by  some  vagabond  spectre  with 
its  tale  of  horror. 

Harry   Main's   house  —  for  we   must  remember  that  he  had 


276  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

one  —  was  ransacked,  and  every  rod  of  the  garden  dug  up  for 
the  money  that  he  was  supposed  to  liave  buried  there  ;  but 
nothing  rewarded  the  search.  Other  places,  too,  have  been  ex- 
plored with  the  same  result,  in  quest  of  Kidd's  hidden  treasures. 
One  good  man  dreamed  three  nights  in  succession  that  vast  sums 
were  buried  in  a  certain  hill  in  the  town.  He  could  see  the 
very  spot.  Haunted  by  the  realism  of  the  dream,  he  determined 
to  test  the  matter  for  himself;  and  one  dark  night,  just  as  mid- 
night struck,  he  took  his  spade,  his  lantern,  and  his  Bible,  and 
started  on  his  Aveird  errand.  Upon  reaching  the  spot  he  recog- 
nized it  as  the  same  that  he  had  seen  in  his  dream.  He  imme- 
diately fell  to  work.  After  plying  his  spade  vigorously  a  while, 
it  struck  against  some  hard  object.  He  now  felt  sure  of  his 
prize.  Scraping  the  earth  away  with  feverish  haste,  he  came 
to  a  flat  stone  having  a  bar  of  iron  laid  across  it.  This  he 
eagerly  grasped  with  one  hand,  and  was  about  to  turn  the  stone 
over  with  the  other  when  he  was  suddenly  surrounded  by  a  troop 
of  cats,  whose  eyeballs  blazed  in  the  darkness.  The  digger  felt 
his  hair  slowly  rising  on  end.  A  cold  sweat  stood  on  his  brow. 
Brandishing  the  bar  aloft,  he  cried  out,  "  Scat ! "  when  these  vig- 
ilant guardians  of  the  treasure  vanished  in  a  twinkling,  leaving 
the  crestfallen  money-digger  standing  up  to  his  middle  in  cold 
water,  which  had  poured  into  the  hole,  when  he  broke  the  spell 
by  speaking.  Half  drowned,  and  wholly  disgusted,  he  crawled 
out  of  it.  The  iron  bar,  however,  remained  tightly  clutched  in 
his  hand.  He  carried  it  home,  and  I  was  assured  that  upon 
going  to  a  certain  house  in  Ipswich  I  might  see  the  identical 
door-latch  which  a  smith  had  made  out  of  this  bar  for  a  souvenir 
of  the  night's  adventure. 

Such  are  a  few  of  the  many  stories  which  Mr.  Morgan  has 
picturesquely  grouped  together  in  his  poem  entitled  "  Old  Ips- 
wich Town,"  —  a  charming  bit  of  reminiscence,  and  charmingly 
told. 


OLD   IPSWICH   TOWN.  277 

OLD   IPSWICH  TOWN. 

APl'LETON   MORGAN. 

I  LOVE  to  think  oi  old  Ipswich  town, 

Old  Ipswich  town  in  the  East  countree, 
Whence,  on  the  tide,  yon  can  float  down 

Through  the  long  salt  grass  to  the  w^ailing  sea. 
Where  the  "  Mayflower  "  drifted  off  the  bar 

Sea-worn  and  weary,  long  years  ago. 
And  dared  not  enter,  but  sailed  away 
Till  she  landed  her  boats  in  Plymouth  Bay. 

I  love  to  think  of  old  Ipswich  town, 

Where  Whitefield  preached  in  the  church  on  the  hill, 
Driving  out  the  Devil  till  he  leaped  down 

From  the  steeple's  top,  where  they  show  you  still, 
Imbedded  deep  in  the  solid  rock, 

The  indelible  print  of  his  cloven  hoof, 
And  tell  you  the  Devil  has  never  shown 
Face  or  hoof  since  that  day  in  the  honest  town. 

I  love  to  think  of  old  Ipswich  town, 

Where  they  shut  up  the  witches  until  the  day 

When  they  should  be  roasted  so  thoroughly  brown, 
In  Salem  Village,  twelve  miles  away  ; 

They  've  moved  it  off  for  a  stable  now  ; 

But  there  are  the  holes  where  the  stout  jail  stood. 

And,  at  night,  they  say  that  over  the  holes 

You  can  see  the  ghost  of  Goody  Coles. 

I  love  to  think  of  old  Ipswich  town  ; 

That  house  to  your  right,  a  rod  or  more. 
Where  the  stern  old  elm-trees  seem  to  frown 

If  you  peer  too  hard  through  the  open  door, 
Sheltered  the  regicide  judges  three 

When  the  royal  sheriffs  were  after  them, 
And  a  queer  old  villager  once  I  met. 
Who  says  in  the  cellar  they  're  living  yet. 


278 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


I  love  to  think  of  old  Ipswich  town  ; 

Harry  Main  —  you  have  heard  the  tali;  —  lived  there 
He  blasphemed  God,  so  they  put  him  down 

With  an  iron  shovel,  at  Ipswich  Bar  ; 
They  chained  him  there  for  a  thousand  years, 

As  the  sea  rolls  up  to  shovel  it  back  ; 
So  when  the  sea  cries,  the  goodwives  say 
"  Harry  Main  growls  at  his  work  to-day." 


IPSWICTI    HEADS 


I  love  to  think  of  old  Ipswicli  town  ; 

There  's  a  graveyard  up  on  the  old  High  street, 
Where  ten  generations  are  looking  down 

On  the  one  that  is  toiling  at  their  feet  ; 
Where  the  stones  stand  shoulder  to  shoulder,  like  trooj): 

Drawn  up  to  receive  a  cavalry  chargi;, 
And  graves  have  been  dug  in  graves,  till  the  sod 
Is  the  mould  of  good  men  gone  to  God. 

I  love  to  tliink  of  old  Ipswich  town. 

Old  Ipswich  town  in  the  East  countree, 
Whence,  on  the  tide,  you  can  float  down 

Through  the  long  salt  grass  to  the  wailing  sea, 
And  lie  all  day  on  the  glassy  beach. 

And  learn  the  lesson  the  green  waves  teach, 
Till  at  sunset,  from  surf  and  seaweed  brown, 
You  are  jmlling  back  to  Ipswich  town. 


HEARTBREAK   HILL. 


279 


Ipswich  contains  many  interesting  memorials  of  its  antique 
worthies  and  times.  In  the  Old  Hill  burying-ground  on  High 
Street  may  be  found  incontestable  proofs  to  tlie  rank  held  by 
some  of  the  founders,  in  the  family  arms  that  are  sculptured  on 
the  ancient  tombstones;  but  you  will  not  find  the  gravestone 
of  the  Keverend  William  Hubbard,  the  historian  of  New  Eng- 
land, there,  because  no  one  knows  the  spot  where  he  is  buried. 


HEARTBREAK   HILL. 

TUENING  away  from  the  town  through  unfrequented  by- 
lanes,  all  green  and  spotted  with  daisies,  let  us  ascend 
Heartbreak  Hill  in  the  southeast  corner.  The  view  is  certainly 
charming.  The  reader  asks  what  we  see;  and,  like  one  on  a 
tower,  we  reply:  In  the  distance,  across  a  lonely  waste  of 
marshes,  through  which  glistening  tidal  streams  crawl  on  their 
bellies  among  reeds,  and  sun  their  glossy  backs  among  sand- 
dunes,  we  see  the  bald  Ipswich  Hundreds,  a  group  of  smooth, 
gray-green,  desolate-looking  hills  stretched  along  the  coast. 
They" are  isolated  by  these  marshes  from  the  mainland,  which 
they  seem  trying  to  rejoin.  Through  the  openings  between 
these  hills  we  catch  the  glitter  of  a  ragged  line  of  sand-dunes 
heaped  up  like  snow-drifts  at  the  edge  of  the  shore,  over  which 
rises  the  sea,  and  the  harbor-bar,  overspread  with  foam. 

It  being  a  clear  day,  we  can  see  from  Cape  Ann  as  far  as 
Cape  I^eddock,  and  all  that  lies  or  floats  between  ;  but  for  leagues 
the  coast  is  sad  and  drear,  and  from  the  sand,  intrenching  it 
everywhere  with  a  natural  dyke,  the  eye  turns  gratefully 
upon  the  refreshing  sea.  Then,  as  the  Maine  coast  sweeps 
aracefully  round  to  the  east,  the  blue  domes  of  Agamenticus  rise 
above  it,  while  the  long  dark  land-line  shoots  off  into  the  ocean, 
diminishing  gradually  from  the  mountain,  like  a  musical  phrase 
whose  last  note  we  strive  to  catch  long  after  it  has  died  away. 


280  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Beneath  us  is  a  narrow  valley  through  which  a  river  runs 
with  speed.  The  town  occupies  both  banks,  which  rise  into 
considerable  eminences  above  it.  All  around  are  the  evidences  of 
long  occupation  of  the  land,  —  fields  that  have  borne  crops,  and 
trees  that  have  been  growing  for  centuries ;  houses  whose  steep 
roofs  descend  almost  to  the  ground ;  graveyards  whose  mossed 
stones  lean  this  way  and  that  with  age.  Finally,  the  traditions 
that  we  are  unwilling  to  see  expire,  cast  a  pleasing  glamour  ovei 
the  place,  —  something  like  the  shadows  Avhich  the  ancient  elms 
fling  down  upon  the  hot  and  dusty  roads. 


MEN    OY    MAKK. 

The  river  shoots  through  the  gray  arches  of  a  picturesque 
stone  bridge  out  upon  the  broad  levels  of  marsh  land  stretching 
seaward.  Through  these  it  loiters  quietly  along  down  to  the 
sea.  At  the  town  it  is  an  eager  mill-stream  ;  at  the  ocean  it  is 
as  calm  as  a  mill-pond.  The  tide  bidngs  in  a  few  fishing-boats, 
but  seldom  anything  larger ;  for  it  is  no  longer  an  aveinie  of 
commerce,  as  in  bygone  days. 

The  oldest  of  Ipswich  legends  is  associatcul  with  this  liill,  and 
accounts  for  its  name  ;  though  the  obscurity  surrounding  its  ori- 
gin baffles  any  attempt  to  trace  it  to  an  authentic  source.  The 
name  is  however  f  jund  upon  the  earliest  records  of  the  town, 
and  it  is  probably  as  old  as  the  settlement,  which  was  begun 


TTTE   maiden's   WATCH. 


232  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

by  the  whites  in  1G35  as  a  check  to  the  expected  encroachments 
of  Cardinal  Richelieu's  colony,  then  established  in  Acadia.  But 
before  this,  we  know,  from  Captain  Smitli,  that  the  place  was 
the  most  populous  Indian  settlement  in  all  ^lassachusetts  Bay, 
it  being  the  seat  of  a  powerful  sagamore,  and  known  by  its  In- 
dian name  of  Agawam.  That  a  few  white  people  were  living 
among  the  Indians  liere  previous  to  1635  is  evident  from  the 
tenor  of  one  of  the  first  recorded  acts  of  the  new  Colony,  dated 
September  7,  1630,  commanding  those  that  were  planted  at 
Agawam  forthwith  to  come  away.  It  is  perhaps  to  this  early 
time  that  the  legend  of  Heartbreak  Hill  refers,  since  it  is  known 
that  the  Agawains  were  a  docile  and  hospitable  people,  who 
welcomed  the  coming  of  the  English  among  them  with  open 
arms;  and  it  is  also  known  that  the  place  was  more  or  less 
frequented  by  the  English  fishing-ships. 

Briefly,  the  legend  relates  the  romantic  story  of  an  Indian 
maiden  who  fell  in  love  with  a  white  sailor,  and  upon  his  sailing 
for  a  distant  land,  she  used  to  climb  this  hiU  and  pass  her  days 
sitting  upon  the  summit  watching  for  his  return.  But  the 
months  and  years  passed  without  bringing  any  tidings  of  him. 
He  never  did  come  back  ;  and  still  the  deserted  one  watched  and 
Avaited,  until  she  pined  away,  and  at  length  died  of  a  broken 
heart.  There  is  a  ledge  on  the  summit  where  the  Indian  girl 
sat  watching  for  her  lover's  return  ;  and  when  she  died,  her  lonely 
grave  was  made  by  the  side  of  it.  By  others  the  legend  is  dif- 
ferently related.  Some  say  that  as  the  girl  one  day  wended  her 
way  wearily  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  she  saw  her  lover's  vessel 
making  the  desperate  attempt  to  gain  the  port  in  the  height  of 
a  violent  gale.  But  it  drove  steadily  on  among  the  breakers, 
and  was  dashed  to  pieces  and  swallowed  up  before  her  eyes. 
In  her  poem  Mrs.  Thaxter  adopts  the  former  version,  which,  if 
less  tragic,  appeals  in  a  more  subtle  way  to  our  sympathies. 
In  any  case  the  hill  has  become  a  monument  to  faithful  affec- 
tion, and  as  such  is  the  favorite  resort  of  lovers  in  all  the 
country  round. 


HEARTBREAK    HILL.  283 

HEARTBREAK     HILL. 

CELIA   THAXTER. 

In  Ipswich  town,  not  far  from  the  sea, 
Rises  a  hill  which  the  people  call 

Heartbreak  Hill,  and  its  history- 
Is  an  old,  old  legend,  known  to  alL 

It  was  a  sailor  who  won  the  heart 

Of  an  Indian  maiden,  lithe  and  young  ; 
And  she  saw  him  over  the  sea  depart, 

While  sweet  in  her  ear  his  promise  rung  ; 

For  he  cried,  as  he  kissed  her  wet  eyes  dry, 

"  I  '11  come  back,  sweetheart ;  keep  your  faith  ! " 

She  said,  "  I  will  watch  while  the  moons  go  by." 
Her  love  was  stronger  than  life  or  death. 

So  this  poor  dusk  Ariadne  kept 

Her  watch  from  the  hill-toj)  rugged  and  steep  ; 
Slowly  the  empty  moments  crept 

While  she  studied  the  changing  face  of  the  deej), 

Fastening  her  eyes  upon  every  speck 

That  crossed  the  ocean  within  her  ken  ; 
Might  not  her  lover  be  walking  the  deck, 

Surely  and  swiftly  returning  again  V 

The  Isles  of  Shoals  loomed,  lonely  and  dim, 

In  the  northeast  distance  far  and  gnay, 
Anil  on  the  horizon's  uttermost  rim 

Tlie  low  rock  heap  of  Boone  Island  lay. 

Oh,  but  the  weary,  merciless  days, 

With  the  sun  above,  with  the  sea  afar,  — 
No  change  in  her  fixed  and  wistful  gaze 

From  the  morning-red  to  the  evening  star! 


284  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Like  a  slender  statue  carved  of  stone 
She  sat,  with  hardly  motion  or  breath. 

She  wept  no  tears  and  she  made  no  moan, 
But  her  love  was  stronger  than  lil'e  or  death. 

He  never  came  back !     Yet,  faithful  still, 
She  watched  from  the  hill-top  her  life  away. 

And  the  townsfolk  christened  it  Heartbreak  Hill, 
And  it  bears  the  name  to  this  very  day. 


NEWBURYPORT    LEGENDS. 

LET  us  stroll  a  little  about  the  city  of  Newbury  port  and  its 
charming  environs. 
Upon  leaving  Ipswich  the  landscape  grows  less  austere.  The 
flat  Rowley  marshes  succeed  the  rocky  pastures  and  tumbling 
hills,  with  their  stiflly-upright  cedars  and  their  shut-in  vistas,  like 
a  calm  after  a  storm.  Then  we  glide  on  among  haycocks,  stand- 
ing up  out  of  the  inflowing  tide,  across  the  beautiful  and  peace- 
ful prairie  of  Old  Newbury,  and  are  suddenly  brought  up  by  a 
ridge  of  high  land,  lifting  its  green  wall  between  us  and  the 
basin  of  the  Merrimack.  At  the  right,  thrust  up  through  the 
tops  of  the  elm-trees  that  hide  the  village,  like  a  spear  tipped 
with  gold, 

springs  the  village  spire 
With  the  crest  of  its  cock  in  the  sun  afire. 

That  is  old  Newbury  meeting-house.  Extending  now  far 
along  the  slopes  of  the  ridge  as  we  approach  it,  are  the  city 
cemeteries,  whose  mingled  gray  and  white  monuments  tlirong 
the  green  swells,  —  a  multitude  of  spectators  turned  into  stone. 
Then,  cutting  through  the  ridge,  the  train  plunges  into  the 
darkness  of  a  tunnel,  soon  emerging  again  upon  the  farther 
slope  among  the  city  streets  from  which  the  broad  white  sheet 
of  the  Merrimack  is  soon  moving  steadily  out  to  sea.     One  side 


NEWBURYPORT    LEGENDS. 


285 


of  these  heights  then  is  appropriated  by  the  living,  the  other 
by  the  dead. 

The  most  remarkable  and  fosciuating  object  in  the  landscape 

now  is  the  river. 

The  Eiver  Merrimack,  when  near  the  end  of  its  long  course, 
expands  into  a  noble  basin  enclosed  within  the  sweep  of  pictur- 
esquely grouped  and  broken  highlands.  It  is  here  every  inch  a 
river,  broad,  deep,  clear,  and  sparkling.      On  one  side  are  the 


BEACON,    SALISBURY   POINT. 

hills  of  Amesbury  and  Salisbury,  on  the  other  side  the  city  of 
Newburyport  rises  from  the  curved  shore  to  the  summit  of  the 
ridge,  crowned  with  trees  and  spiked  with  steeples. 

Down  below  the  city  and  toward  the  sea  all  this  changes. 
The  high  shores  drop  into  fens,  marshes,  and  downs.  A  long, 
low  island  thrusts  itself  half  across  the  channel  and  blockades  it. 
Beyond  this  again  the  sea  breaks  heavily  on  the  low  bar  outside, 
and  the  river  disappears  in  a  broken  line  of  foam. 

One  loving  and  reverential  hand  has  stamped  all  this  region 
with  the  impress  of  his  genius,  and  so  has  made  all  the  world 


'286  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

partakers  of  his  own  feeliug  for  the  famihar  sceues  he  describes. 
Aiuesbury  is  Whittier's  home,  the  Merrimack  his  uufailiug 
theme.     Here  are  his  surroundings  :  — 

Stream  of  my  fathers  !  sweetly  still 
The  sunset  rays  thy  valley  fill  ; 
Poured  slantwise  down  the  long  defile, 
Wave,  wood,  and  spire  beneath  them  smile. 
I  see  the  winding  Powow  fold 
The  green  hill  in  its  belt  of  gold, 
Aud  following  down  its  wavy  line. 
Its  sparkling  waters  blend  with  thine. 
There  's  not  a  tree  upon  thy  side, 
Nor  rock  which  thy  returning  tide 
As  yet  hath  left  abrupt  and  stark 
Above  thy  evening  water-mark, 

But  lies  distinct  and  full  in  sight, 
Beneath  this  gush  of  sunnner  light. 

In  the  same  spirit,  which  by  a  sort  of  poetic  alchemy  seems 
capable  of  converting  the  waste  sands  of  the  seashore  into  grains 
of  gold,  Mrs.  Spofford  has  described  the  approaches  to  the  river 
through  the  flat  lagoons  that  furnish  a  circulation  to  the  marshes. 

We  floated  in  the  idle  breeze. 

With  all  om-  sails  a-shiver  : 
The  shining  tide  came  softly  through, 

And  filled  Plum  Island  River. 

And  clear  the  flood  of  silver  swung 

Between  the  brimming  edges  ; 
And  now  the  depths  were  dark,  and  now 

The  boat  slid  o'er  the  sedges. 

And  here  a  yellow  sand-spit  foamed 

Amid  the  great  sea-meadows  ; 
And  here  the  slumberous  waters  gloomed 

Lucid  in  emerald  shadows. 


NEWBURYPORT    LEGENDS.  287 

Around  the  sunny  distance  rose 

A  blue  and  hazy  highland, 
And  windhig  down  our  winding  way 

The  sand-hills  of  Phun  Island. 

From  the  domain  of  poetry  we  pass  easily  into  that  of  history. 

Mr.  John  Quincy  Adams  once  described  Siberia  as  being  cele- 
brated for  its  malefactors  and  malachite.  Some  one,  in  an  epi- 
grammatic vein,  has  summed  up  Newburyport  as  being  famous 
for  piety  and  privateering ;  and  the  analogy  seems  established 
when  one  turns  to  the  History  of  Newbury  written  by  Whittier's 
old  schoolmaster,  Joshua  Coffin,  and  reads  there  that  the  pri- 
vateersmen  on  putting  to  sea  were  accustomed  to  request  the 
prayers  of  the  churches  for  the  success  of  the  cruise,  —  to  which 
petition  all  those  having  a  share  in  the  voyage  responded  with  a 
hearty  amen. 

Newburyport,  then,  is  a  city  built  upon  a  hill.  One  reads  its 
history  as  he  walks.  Like  Salem,  it  rose  and  flourished  through 
its  commerce  ;  but  when  that  Mled,  the  business  of  the  place  had 
to  be  recast  in  a  wholly  different  mould,  and  its  merchants  be- 
came spinners  and  weavers,  instead  of  shipowners  and  ship- 
builders. It  now  seems  trying  rather  awkwardly  to  adapt  itself 
to  the  changes  that  the  last  half-century  has  brought  about,  — 
changes  emphasized  by  the  tenacity  with  which  the  old  people 
cling  to  the  traditions  that  are  associated  with  its  former  pros- 
perity, and  gave  it  a  prestige  that  mills  and  factories  can  no 
longer  maintain. 

The  waterside  street  begins  at  a  nest  of  idle  shipyards,  winds 
with  the  river  along  a  line  of  rusty  wharves,  where  colliers  take 
the  place  of  Indiamen,  and  ends  with  the  antiquated  suburb  of 
Joppa,  —  which  at  least  retains  some  of  the  flavor  of  a  seaport, 
it  having  a  population  that  gets  its  living  by  fishing,  piloting,  or 
doing  such  odd  johs  as  watermen  can  pick  up  along  shore. 
From  here  the  sails  of  a  vessel  that  is  nearing  the  port  can  be 
seen  gliding  along  over  the  sand-drifts  of  Plum  Island  or  Salis- 
bury Beach.     Joppa  is  crowded  with  houses,  but  it  is  torpid. 


288  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

This  long  street  leaves  us  at  Oldtown,  the  parent  settlement 
here,  whose  church  sj^ire  we  saw  at  a  distance.  It  is  narrow, 
irregular,  and  untidy ;  but  High  Street,  the  avenue  laid  out  along 
the  top  of  the  ridge,  and  extending  from  Oldtown  Green  to 
the  Chain  Bridge  over  the  jSIerrimack,  is  a  thoroughfare  one 
does  not  often  see  equalled,  even  if  he  has  travelled  far  and  seen 
much. 

Here,  upou  the  cool  brow  of  the  ridge,  are  the  stately  homes 
of  the  wealthy  citizens ;  here  the  old  merchants,  who  amassed 
fortunes  in  West  India  rum  and  sugar  in  little  stuffy  counting- 
rooms  on  the  wharves  below,  lived  like  princes  in  the  great 
roomy  mansions  whose  windows  overlooked  all  the  town,  the 
silvery  course  of  the  river,  and  the  surrounding  country  for 
miles  up  and  down.  Although  they  are  now  sadly  out  of  date, 
and  of  such  size  as  to  suggest  that  a  blow  of  the  hospitable 
knocker  would  fill  them  with  echoes,  there  is  an  air  of  gentility 
and  of  good  living  about  all  these  houses  which  makes  us  feel 
regret  for  the  generation  whose  open-handed  hospitality  has 
passed  into  a  tradition ;  while  the  mansions  themseh'es,  grown 
venerable,  continue  to  unite  two  wholly  dissimilar  eras. 

Usually  there  was  an  observatory  on  the  roof,  from  which  the 
owner  could  sweep  the  offing  with  his  glass  of  a  morning,  and 
could  run  over  in  his  mind  the  chance  of  a  voyage  long  before 
his  vessel  had  wallowed  over  the  bar  outside.  He  might  then 
descend,  take  his  cocked  hat  and  cane  from  the  hall-table,  order 
dinner,  with  an  extra  cover  for  his  captain,  pull  out  his  shirt- frill, 
and  go  down  to  his  counting-house  Avithout  a  wrinkle  on  his 
brow  or  a  crease  in  his  silk  stockings ;  everybody  would  know 
that  his  ship  had  come  in.  Sound  in  head  and  stomach,  bluff  of 
speech,  yet  with  a  certain  homely  dignity  always  distinguishing 
his  class,  the  merchant  of  the  olden  time,  undoubted  autocrat  to 
his  immediate  circle  of  dependants,  was  a  man  whose  like  we 
shall  not  look  upon  again.     He  left  no  successors. 

During  the  two  Avars  with  England,  a  swarm  of  privateers, 
as  well  as  some  of  the  most  famous  vessels  of  the  old,  the  invin- 
cible, navy,  were  launched  here.    In  1812  the  port  suffered  as  long 


NEWBUKYPORT   LEGENDS.  289 

and  rigorous  a  blockade  from  the  enemy's  cruisers,  as  it  had 
before  been  nearly  paralyzed  by  Mr.  Jefferson's  embargo.  Then 
the  merchant  had  ruin  staring  him  in  the  face  whenever  he  lev- 
elled his  glass  at  the  two  and  three  deckers  exchanging  signals 
in  the  offing,  or  when  he  paced  up  and  down  his  grass-grown 
wharves,  where  his  idle  ships  rusted ;  but  if  he  did  sometimes 
shut  his  glass  with  an  angry  jerk,  or  stamp  his  foot  to  say,  be- 
tween an  oath  and  a  groan,  "  Our  masts  take  root,  bud  forth  too, 
and  beare  akornes  !  "  he  was  never  found  wanting  in  patriotism, 
nor  did  he  show  a  niggardly  or  a  craven  spirit  in  the  face  of 
his  reverses,  so  that  the  record  of  the  Tracys,  the  Daltons,  the 
Browns,  is  one  of  which  their  descendants  are  justly  proud. 
Still,  it  was  not  thought  to  be  a  sinful  thing  in  those  days  for 
the  clergy  to  pray  that  a  change  of  rulers  might  remove  the 
embargo,  or  that  a  stiff  gale  of  wind  would  raise  the  blockade, 
—  the  means  to  this  end  being  left  to  the  wisdom  of  an  over- 
ruling Providence. 

For  the  stranger,  however,  there  are  but  two  things  in  Xew- 
buryport  for  which  he  asks  the  first  person  he  meets.  One  is 
the  tomb  of  George  Whitefield,  and  the  other  is  the  mansion  of 
Lord  Timothy  Dexter.  One  is  in  a  quiet  and  unpretending 
neighborhood;  the  other  stands  in  the  liigh  places  of  the  city. 
Two  objects  more  diverse  by  their  associations,  two  lives  more 
opposite  in  their  aspirations,  it  would  be  difficult  to  conceive  of, 
yet  here  the  memories  of  the  two  men  jostle  each  other.  Truly 
it  is  only  a  step  from  the  sublime  to  the  ridiculous. 

The  number  of  pilgrims  who  visit  the  tomb  of  Whitefield  is 
very  large.  The  great  itinerant  preacher  is  buried  in  a  vault 
that  is  entered  by  a  door  underneath  the  pulpit  of  the  Old  South 
Presbyterian  meeting-house,  in  Federal  Street.  Its  slender  and 
modest  spire,  with  its  brazen  weathercock,  rises  above  a  neigh- 
borhood no  longer  fashionable,  perhaps,  but  quite  in  keeping 
with  its  own  severe  simplicity.  ]S"either  belongs  to  the  present. 
The  house  has  the  date  1756  over  the  entrance-door,  and  is  built 
of  wood.  At  the  left  of  the  pulpit,  as  we  enter,  is  a  marble 
cenotaph  erected  to  the  memory  of  Whitefield,  one  face  of  which 
19 


290 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


bears  a  long  eulogistic  inscription.  Descending  into  the  crypt^ 
whose  sepulchral  darkness  a  lamp  dimly  lights,  we  are  alone 
with  its  silent  inmates.  Yonder  dark  object  presently  shapes 
itself  into  a  bier.  We  approach  it.  The  coffin-lid  is  thrown 
open,  so  as  to  expose  what  is  left  of  its  tenant,  —  the  fleshless 
skull    and    bones   of   George  Whitefield.       It  is  not  forbidden 


WIIITEFIELD  S   MONUMENT. 


to  shudder.      Who,  indeed,  that  looks  can  believe  that  "  there, 
Whitefield,  pealed  thy  voice  "  1 

Owing,  doubtless,  to  the  fact  that  many  come  to  gratify  an  idle 
curiosity,  the  trustees  have  closed  the  tomb  "  for  a  spell,"  as  the- 


NEWBURYPORT    LEGENDS.  291 

old  sexton  remarked^  with  too  evident  vexation  for  the  loss  of 
his  fees  for  showing  it  to  visitors.  It  is  a  curious  instance  of 
vandalism  that  one  of  the  arm-bones  should  have  been  surrep- 
titiously taken  from  the  coffin,  and  after  having  twice  crossed 
the  ocean,  have  found  its  way  back  to  its  original  resting-place. 
The  story  goes  that  an  ardent  admirer  of  the  eloquent  preacher, 
who  wished  to  obtain  some  relic  of  him,  gave  a  commission  to  a 
friend  for  the  purpose,  and  this  friend,  it  is  supposed,  procured 
the  limb  through  the  connivance  of  the  sexton's  son.  The  act 
of  desecration  being,  however,  discovered,  aroused  so  much  indig- 
nation everywhere,  that  the  possessor  thought  it  best  to  relin- 
quish his  prize ;  and  he  accordingly  intrusted  it  to  a  shipmaster, 
with  the  injunction  to  see  it  again  safely  placed  in  the  vault 
with  his  own  eyes,  —  which  direction  was  strictly  carried  out. 
"And  I,"  finished  the  sexton,  "have  been  down  in  the  tomb 
with  the  captain  who  brought  that  ar'  bone  back."  But  this  all 
happened  many  years  ago. 

This  neighborhood  is  further  interesting  as  being  the  birth- 
place of  William  Lloyd  Garrison,  whose  dwelling  is  the  first  on 
the  left  in  School  Street,  while  the  next  is  that  in  which  White- 
field  died  of  an  attack  of  asthma.  The  extraordinary  religious 
awakening  that  followed  his  preaching  is  one  of  the  traditions 
common  to  all  our  New-England  seaboard  towns,  the  houses 
where  he  stopped  being  always  pointed  out;  so  that  everywhere 
Whitefield  has  a  monument.  A  missionary  who  crossed  the 
ocean  fourteen  times,  an  evangelist  who  preached  more  than 
eighteen  thousand  sermons,  and  whose  audiences  were  so  nume- 
rous that  he  was  compelled  to  hold  his  meetings  in  the  open  air, 
was  no  ordinary  man.  To  this  exposure  of  himself  his  death  is 
attributed.  It  caused  a  deep  sensation  ;  and  so  much  had  the  pub- 
lic estimate  of  him  changed,  that  there  was  even  a  contention  for 
the  honor  of  possessing  his  remains,  which  now  lie  in  the  place 
where  he  was  stoned  when  he  first  attempted  to  preach  in  it. 
Such  is  the  retribution  that  time  brings.  When  this  cowardly 
assault  nearly  struck  the  Bible  from  his  hand,  the  man  who  al- 
ways had  an  answer  for  everything,  holding  up  the  book,  said 


292  ITEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

with  calm  dignity,  but  in  a  voice  that  went  through  his  hearers 
like  an  electric  shock  :  "  I  iiave  a  warrant  from  God  to  preach  : 
his  seal  is  -in  my  hand,  and  I  stand  in  the  King's  highway." 


LORD   TIMOTHY  DEXTER. 

TIMOTHY  DEXTER  was  not  born  great,  neither  did  he 
have  greatness  thrust  uj^on  him ;  yet  so  effectually  does 
he  seem  to  have  thrust  his  quasi-greatness  upon  Newburyport, 
that  even  now,  after  the  lapse  of  nearly  fourscore  years,  count- 
ing from  the  time  when  he  laid  his  eccentricities  in  the  dust,  as 
all  lords,  sooner  or  later,  must  do,  the  stranger  visiting  Newbury- 
port  asks  first  to  be  guided  to  the  spot  where  the  renowned  Lord 
Timothy  lived  in  most  uurepublican  state. 

Timothy  Dexter  was  not  a  native  of  Newburyport.  Maiden 
has  the  honor  of  being  his  birthplace ;  and  the  family  still  exists 
there,  a  branch  of  it  having  occupied  one  estate  for  more  than 
two  hundred  years.  Although  bred  to  the  tanner's  trade,  Timo- 
thy was  far  too  shrewd  to  hide  his  talents  in  a  vat.  He  saw 
easier  avenues  to  wealth  opening  before  him  ;  and  with  a  forecast 
which  would  make  any  merchant's  fortune,  he  bought  and  sold 
in  the  way  of  trade  until  he  had  accunmlated  a  snug  capital 
for  future  speculations. 

Having  "put  money  in  his  purse,"  Timothy  Dexter  became 
ambitious ;  believing  that  a  golden  key  would  admit  him  within 
the  circles  of  the  aristocracy.  Then,  as  now,  Newburyport  was 
the  seat  of  culture,  refinement,  and  literature  ;  and  it  was  there- 
fore to  Newburyport  that  the  titled  tanner  now  turned  his  eyes. 
He  found  in  its  picturesque  precincts  two  mansion  houses  avail- 
able for  his  purpose,  and  these  he  purchased.  He  first  occupied 
one  situated  on  State  Street ;  but  having  soon  sold  this  at  a 
profit,  he  removed  to  the  well-known  estate  situated  on  High 
Street,  thenceforth  making  it,  through  an  odd  perversion  of  its 
real  character,  one  of  the  historic  mansions  of  Essex  Countv- 


294  XEW-EXGLAND    LEGENDS. 

Vain  to  excess,  he  longed  for  the  adulation  which  a  certain  class 
of  people  are  always  ready  to  lavish  upon  the  possessors  of  great 
wealth. 

He  now  began  the  work  of  renovation  which  transformed  the 
sober  mansion  of  his  predecessor  into  a  harlequinade  in  wood. 
By  his  directions  the  painters  adorned  the  outside  a  brilliant 
white,  trimmed  with  green.  Minarets  were  built  upon  the  roof, 
in  the  centre  of  which  rose  a  lofty  cupola  surmounted  by  a 
gilded  eagle  with  outspread  wings.  Standing  as  it  did  upon 
the  crown  of  the  hill,  the  house  could  be  seen  for  miles  around, 
and  soon  became  a  landmark  for  mariners.  But  the  great  and 
unique  display  was  made  in  the  garden  fronting  this  house. 

There  then  was  working  at  his  trade  in  the  town  a  skilful 
ship-carver  named  Wilson,  whom  Dexter  employed  to  carve 
from  the  solid  wood  some  forty  gigantic  statues  of  the  most 
celebrated  men  of  the  period.  Gladly  did  the  sculptor  accept 
and  execute  this  order,  for  it  enabled  him  to  lay  the  foundation 
of  a  small  fortune,  and  to  acquire  a  lasting  reputation  among 
his  townsmen  for  his  workmanship.  These  images  were  about 
eight  feet  in  height.  With  conscientious  hdelity  to  fact  and 
fitness,  the  carved  clothing  was  painted  to  resemble  that  worn 
by  the  real  personages,  —  blue  coats,  white  shirts,  buff  breeches, 
and  the  rest,  —  altogether  making  a  display  which  no  museum 
in  the  country  could  equal.  Over  the  main  entrance  to  the 
house,  on  a  beautiful  arch,  stood  George  Washington,  with  John 
Adams,  bareheaded,  at  his  right  hand ;  for  Dexter  said  that  no 
one  should  stand  covered  on  the  right  hand  of  his  greatest  hero, 
General  Washington.  On  the  left  was  Thomas  Jefferson,  hold- 
ing in  his  hand  a  scroll  inscribed  "  Constitution."  But  my 
Lord  Timothy,  it  is  said,  in  spite  of  the  painter's  objections, 
insisted  upon  spelling  the  name  of  the  Sage  of  ISIonticello, 
"Tomas,"  instead  of  Thomas,  finally  threatening  to  shoot  the 
artist  on  the  spot  if  he  persisted  in  his  refusal  to  do  what  was 
required  of  him. 

The  man  Avho  had  planned  and  created  this  garden  of  statues 
was  as  capricious  as  fame  itself.     If  he  raised  a  statue  to  some 


LORD    TIMOTHY   DEXTER.  295 

favorite  to-day,  he  reserved  the  right  to  change  his  name  to- 
morrow ;  and  often  a  stroke  of  the  painter's  brush  transformed 
statesmen  into  soldiers,  or  soldiers  into  civilians.  General  Mor- 
gan yesterday  was  Bonaparte  to-day,  to  whom  Dexter  always 
paid  the  civility  of  touching  his  hat  when  he  passed  underneath 
the  great  Corsican's  shadow.  In  the  panels  of  the  entablatures 
of  each  of  the  columns  on  which  these  images  stood  were  the 
names  of  the  characters  represented.  Among  them  were  Gov- 
ernor John  Langdon  of  New  Hampshire,  Governor  Caleb  Strong 
of  Massachusetts,  Eufus  King,  General  Butler  of  South  Caro- 
lina, General  Knox,  John  Jay,  John  Hancock,  William  Pitt, 
Louis  XVI.,  King  George,  Lord  Nelson,  and  the  Indian  Chief, 
Corn  Planter.  There  was  also  one  allegorical  figure  representing 
Maternal  Affection,  and  another  a  Travelling  Preacher,  besides 
several  enormous  lions  occupying  pedestals.  Dexter  himself 
monopolized  two  statues.  One  of  these  stood  near  the  door, 
holding  in  its  hand  a  placard,  which  Avas  inscribed,  "  I  am  first 
in  the  East,  the  first  in  the  West,  and  the  Greatest  Philosopher 
in  the  known  world."  The  cost  of  these  images,  with  the  col- 
umns on  which  they  were  placed,  is  said  to  have  been  fifteen 
thousand  dollars.  This  was  the  only  way,  however,  in  which 
Lord  Timothy  was  able  to  bring  himself  into  association  with 
greatness.  Society  refused  him  recognition  with  the  same  hard 
obduracy  that  his  own  wooden  images  did,  his  vulgarity  and 
ignorance  being  too  gross  even  for  all  his  gold  to  gild  ;  and  so 
he  lived  only  among  sycophants  and  parasites,  who  cajoled  and 
flattered  him  to  his  heart's  content. 

Having  a  house  and  gi'ounds  wliich  he  flattered  himself  would 
make  his  stuck-up  neighbors  split  with  envy.  Dexter  next  re- 
solved to  set  up  an  equipage  fit  for  a  lord ;  and  one  suiting  his 
ideas  of  magnificence  was  accordingly  procured.  Some  one 
having  told  him  that  the  carriages  of  the  nobility  were  always 
decorated  with  a  coat  of  arms,  one  was  composed  on  demand 
and  painted  on  the  panel.  The  crest  may  have  been  a  dexter 
arm  brandishing  a  warming-pan,  with  the  motto,  "  By  this  I 
got  ye." 


296  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

In  the  matter  of  horses  Dexter  was  extremely  fastidious,  as 
well  as  capricious.  As  soon  as  he  grew  tired  of  one  color,  he 
would  sell  those  he  had  just  bought  at  extravagant  prices,  and 
buy  others.  His  costly  carriage,  drawn  by  beautiful  cream-col- 
ored animals,  became  one  of  the  sights  of  the  day  whenever 
the  owner  chose 'to  take  an  airing;  but  to  the  luxury  of  the 
equipage  the  gannt  and  mean  face,  half  buried  underneath  an 
enormous  cocked-hat,  the  spare  figmre  sitting  bolt  upright,  the 
hairless  dog  squatted  beside  it,  offered  a  contrast  as  strikingly 
ridiculous  as  did  the  coach  of  the  celebrated  Tittlebat-Titmouse, 
and  it  provoked  quite  as  much  laughter  when  it  passed  through 
the  town,  the  street  urchins  shouting  ironically,  "  Clear  the  way 
for  my  lord's  carriage  !  " 

In  this  coach  Dexter  once  drove  in  state  to  the  county  prison 
at  Ipswich,  where  he  served  a  short  sentence  for  tiring  his  pistol 
at  a  countryman  who  stood  staring  at  his  museum  of  celebrities, 
and  who  did  not  move  on  when  my  Lord  Timothy  commanded 
him. 

But  this  singular  being  did  not  consider  his  establishment  as 
complete  without  the  entourage  of  a  nobleman  in  the  days  of 
chivalry.  He  would  again  revive  the  age  of  poets  and  trouba- 
dours. Perhaps  the  most  unique  idea  of  all  was  the  engage- 
ment of  a  poet-laureate  to  write  his  praises  and  to  embalm  his 
memory  in  verse.  There  happened  to  be  living  in  Xewbury- 
port  one  Jonathan  Plummer,  an  eccentric  pedler  of  fish,  who 
had  a  penchant  for  extempore  rhyming  which  with  the  igno- 
rant and  illiterate  passed  for  genius.  A  bargain  was  forth- 
with struck  with  him  to  serve  in  the  capacity  of  poet-laureate, 
and  as  such  he  was  presently  installed  in  Dexter's  household. 
A  handsome  new  livery  was  ordered,  consisting  of  a  fine  black 
broadcloth  coat,  with  stars  on  the  collar  and  fringe  on  the  skirts, 
shoes  with  large  silver  buckles,  a  cocked-hat,  and  a  gold-headed 
cane.  One  of  Plummer's  poems  to  his  patron,  comprising  about 
fifteen  verses,  has  been  preserved  entire.  The  following  is  a 
specimen  :  — 


LORD   TIMOTHY   DEXTEK.  297 

Lord  Dexter  is  a  man  of  ilmie, 

Most  celebrated  is  his  name, 

More  precious  far  than  gold  that 's  pure  : 

Lord  Dexter  shine  forever  more  ! 

His  house  is  white  and  trimmed  with  green  ; 
For  many  miles  it  may  be  seen  ; 
It  shines  as  bright  as  any  star  ; 
The  fame  of  it  has  spread  afar. 

Lord  Dexter,  like  King  Solomon, 
Hath  gold  and  silver  by  the  ton  ; 
And  bells  to  churches  he  hath  given. 
To  worship  the  great  King  of  Heaven. 

I^ot  content  with  all  this,  Dexter's  ambition  now  aimed  at 
nothing  less  than  literary  fame  ;  and  this  was  achieved  at  a 
stroke  by  the  iJ.ublication  of  his  "Pickle  for  the  Knowing 
Ones,"  — an  autobiography  which  lias  ever  since  puzzled  those 
to  whom  it  was  addressed,  to  decide  whether  the  author  was 
really  more  knave  or  fool.  But  as  the  first,  and  probably  the 
last,  example  of  the  kind,  the  -  Pickle"  had  immediate  success, 
although  m  every  way  it  is  a  most  grotesque  libel  upon  the 
good  name  of  literary  composition.  The  spelling  is  atrocious 
and  there  was  no  attempt  at  punctuation;  but  the  author's 
invention  supplied  this  defect  in  a  second  edition,  by  inserting 
a  page  or  more  of  punctuation-marks  at  the  end,  with  the  fof- 
lowing  note  :  — 

"Mister  printer  the  Nowing  ones  complane  of  my  book  the  fust 
edition  had  no  stops  I  put  in  A  Nuf  here  and  they  mav  peper  and 
salt  It  as  they  plese."  ' 

■  But  this  odd  notion  hardly  originated  with  Dexter,  original 
as  he  unquestionably  was,  inasmuch  as  Tom  Hood  has  an  account 
m  his  "Reminiscences"  of  a  literary  friend  who  placed  a  num- 
ber of  colons,  semicolons,  etc.,  at  the  bottom  of  Ids  communi- 
cation, adding. 

And  these  are  ,ny  points  that  I  place  at  the  foot, 
That  yon  may  put  stops  that  I  can't  stoj.  to  put. 


298 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


Dexter's  unique  speculation  in  warming-pans,  told  by  himself 
in  the  "  Pickle,"  has  perhaps  done  more  to  transmit  his  name  to 
posterity  than  anything  else*  By  some  people  the  story  is  con- 
sidered as  nothing  short  of  a  pure  fab- 
rication, designed  for  those  inquisitive 
people  who  were  continually  asking 
how  Dexter  made  his  money.  But 
even  if  the  story  is  too  good  to  be 
true, — and  as  a  merchant  his  shrewd- 
ness was  proverbial,  —  the  world  has 
accepted  it  upon  his  own  testimony 
as  the  lucky  blunder  of  fortune's  favor- 
ite and  fool.  The  man  being  him- 
self an  enigma,  we  should  say  that 
in  his  case  it  is  the  improbable  that 
is  true. 

He  relates  that,  having  dreamed  three 
nights  running  that  Avarming-pans 
would  do  well  in  the  AVest  Indies, 
he  collected  "  no  more  than  forty-two 
thousand,"  which  were  put  on  board 
nine  vessels  bound  to  different  ports, 
and  cleared  him  seventy-nine  per  cent. 
The  story  goes  that  one  of  Dexter's  captains,  being  a  shrewd  fel- 
low, took  off  the  covers  of  the  pans,  which  were  then  sold  to  the 
sugar-planters,  all  of  whom  were  anxious  to  obtain  them  for 
ladles. 

Dexter's  speculations  in  whalebone  and  Bibles  were  equally 
comical  and  absurd.  Again  he  dreamed  "  that  the  good  book 
was  run  down  in  this  country  so  low  as  half  price,  and  dull  at 
that.  I  had,"  he  says,  "  the  ready  cash  by  wholesale.  I  bought 
twenty-one  thousand.  I  put  them  into  twenty-one  vessels  for 
the  West  Indies,  and  sent  as  a  text  that  all  of  them  must  have 

one  Bible  in  each  family,  or  they  would  go  to ." 

Besides  putting  faith  in  dreams.  Dexter  believetl  in  fortune- 
telling  as  well  as  fortune-making,  and  made  many  attempts  to 


WARillXG-FAX. 


LOKD    TIMOTHY   DEXTER. 


299 


pry  into  the   obscurity  of  the  future  by  consulting  the  oracle 
of  his  neighborhood,  one  Madam  "--p  -  —  ^  -^range  character, 


LORD    TIMOTUY    DEXTER. 


who,  after  teaching  school,  assumed  the  profession  of  fortune- 
telling.  The  renowned  Moll  Pitcher  also  had  Dexter  for  a 
patron,  and  her  influence  is  said  to  have  been  beneficial  to  him. 


300  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

Another  person  who  is  said  to  have  exeiled  a  great  influence 
for  good  over  this  eccentric  man  was  a  negress  named  Lucy  Lan- 
caster, —  a  female  of  Amazonian  proportions,  who  is  described  as 
being  possessed  of  unusual  shrewdness  and  information.  Her 
father,  called  Csesar,  was  the  son  of  an  African  king,  and  was 
brought  to  the  country  as  a  slave.  So  highly  was  he  esteemed, 
that  on  "  Nigger  'Lection  Day  "  Lucy's  father  acted  as  general- 
issimo, and  was  entitled  to  have  twelve  footmen  run  by  his  side, 
while  he  proudly  bestrode  a  spirited  horse  at  the  head  of  the 
sooty  procession. 

When  the  yellow  fever  raged  in  Xewburyport  in  1796,  Lucy 
Lancaster  proved  herself  indeed  of  royal  blood.  Strong  and 
fearless,  full  of  good  works,  she  devoted  herself  day  and  night  to 
the  sick,  principally  in  the  families  of  the  best  people  ;  Dexter, 
among  others,  havin-g  need  of  her  services,  she  became  a  firm 
friend  and  counsellor  to  the  family.  Her  estimate  of  Dexter 
was  much  higher  than  the  common  one,  and  she  gave  him  credit 
for  more  honesty  of  purpose  than  most  people  did.  He  needed 
some  one  like  her  to  advise  him,  and  she  frequently  turned  his 
attention  from  mischievous  pursuits  by  suggesting  alterations 
and  improvements  to  be  made  in  his  house  and  grounds.  This 
woman  survived  Dexter  nearly  forty  years. 

One  of  the  oddest  of  Dexter's  freaks  was  his  mock  funeral, 
wliich  was  arranged  by  him  with  all  the  solemnity  of  prepara- 
tron  requisite  for  a  real  interment.  In  his  garden  he  had  caused 
to  be  built  a  spacious  tomb,  while  in  his  house  he  had  long  kept 
a  costly  coffin  made  of  mahogany,  richly  adorned. 

With  a  curiosity  perhaps  unprecedented  in  the  history  of  vain 
man,  lie  wished  to  see  the  effect  his  funeral  would  produce.  Invi- 
tations were  issued,  mourning  apparel  was  prepared  for  his  family, 
some  one  was  found  to  officiate  as  minister,  and  the  procession 
was  duly  formed,  and  marched  to  the  vault  in  the  garden.  While 
this  farce  was  performing.  Dexter  was  looking  from  an  upper  win- 
dow, and  before  the  company  had  dispersed,  he  was  found  beat- 
ing his  wife  for  not  shedding  tears  at  his  pretended  demise. 

Of  his  conjugal  relations,  it  is  reportinl  l)y  one  who  knew  him 


THE    OLD    ELM    OF   NEWBURY.  301 

well,  tliat,  becoming  dissatistled  with  his  wife,  he  made  a  bargain 
with  her  to  leave  him,  giving  her  a  thousand,  or  perhaps  two 
thousand,  dollars  in  exchange  for  his  liberty.  He  then  adver- 
tised for  another  wife ;  but  there  being  no  applicant,  he,  after 
waiting  some  time,  was  glad  to  hire  his  own  wife  to  come  back 
by  the  offer  of  a  sum  equal  to  that  he  had  originally  given  her 
to  go  away. 

On  the  2Gth  of  October,  1806,  Lord  Dexter  died  at  his  man- 
sion on  High  Street.  His  funeral  was  an  occasion  which  it 
would  have  pleased  him  to  witness,  if  such  sights  could  be  per- 
mitted to  vain  mortals  ;  but  as  the  town  officers  would  not,  for 
sanitary  reasons,  allow  his  remains  to  be  deposited  in  his  garden 
tomb,  he  was  laid  away  among  his  fellow  townsmen  in  the 
public  burying-ground  near  the  frog-pond. 

JSTot  long  after  his  death  a  gale  blew  down  many  of  the 
images,  and  the  place  grew  dilapidated.  About  the  year  1846, 
while  it  was  being  used  as  a  factory  boarding-house,  the  estate 
was  purchased  by  E.  G.  Kelley,  of  Newburyport,  who  possessed 
wealth  and  taste,  and  he  proceeded  to  obliterate  as  far  as  pos- 
sible all  traces  of  his  predecessor's  follies.  The  three  presidents 
over  the  door  were  thrown  down  and  demolished  ;  the  grounds 
were  newly  laid  out  ;  and  now  nothing  except  the  eagle  on  the 
summit  of  the  cupola  remains  to  show  Dexter's  bizarre  achieve- 
ments in  ornamentation,  or  to  point  a  moral  upon  his  extrava- 
gances as  a  philosopher. 


THE   OLD   ELM   OF  NEWBURY. 

/^N  Parker  Street,  in  Old  Newbury,  just  out  of  the  village, 
^<-^  there  is  still  growing  the  gigantic  elm-tree  that  is  known 
far  and  wide  as  the  old  elm  of  Newbury.  Coffin  says  that 
it  was  transplanted  and  set  out  here  by  Eichard  Jaques  in 
1713,  so  that  it  has  now  been  growing  on  this  spot  one  hun- 


302 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


dred  and  seventy  years.  Its  girth  is  enormous,  being  twenty- 
four  and  one  half  feet  at  one  foot  from  the  ground.  Now  that 
the  historic  old  elm  of  Boston  is  no  more,  this  is  undoubtedly 
the  largest  tree  of  its  species  in  New  England. 

Yet  older  than  the  tree  are  some  of  the  houses  in  the  neigh- 
borhood— 

Old  homesteads,  sacred  to  all  that  can 

Gladden  or  sadden  the  heart  of  man  ; 

and  still  older  are  the  corroded  stones  in  the  village  churchyard 
that  overlooks  the  broad  estuary  of  the  river,  and  is  washed  by 
the  pond  of  the  floating  island  below  it.  Legendary  lore  clings 
around  these  aged  houses  like  the  mistletoe  to  the  oak,  and  lends 
its  cliarm  to  the  mystery  that  overshadows  them. 


THE   OLD   ELM   OF   NEWBURY. 


THE    OLD    ELM    OF   NEWBURY.  303 

In  a  pretty  pastoral  legend  Miss  Hannah  Gould  gives  the 
origin  of  the  old  elm,  and  incidentally,  also,  an  engaging  picture 
of  the  farm  life  of  those  early  times  with  which  the  legend 
itself  is  associated. 


THE  OLD   ELM   OF  NEWBUEY. 

H.    F.    GOULD. 

Did  it  ever  come  in  your  way  to  pass 
The  silvery  pond,  with  its  fringe  of  grass, 
And  threading  the  lane  hard  by  to  see 
The  veteran  elm  of  Newbury  ? 


Well,  that  old  elm  that  is  now  so  grand 

Was  once  a  twig  in  the  rustic  hand 

Of  a  youthful  peasant,  who  went  one  night 

To  visit  his  love  by  the  tender  light 

Of  the  modest  moon  and  her  twinkhng  host  ; 

While  the  star  that  lighted  his  bosom  most, 

And  gave  to  his  lonely  feet  their  speed. 

Abode  in  a  cottage  beyond  the  mead. 

It  is  not  recorded  how  long  he  stayed 
In  the  cheerful  house  of  the  smiling  maid. 
But  when  he  came  out  it  was  late  and  dark 
And  silent ;  not  even  a  dog  would  bark 
To  take  from  his  feeling  of  loneliness, 
And  make  the  length  of  his  way  seem  less. 

An  elm  grew  close  by  the  cottage's  eaves, 

So  he  plucked  him  a  twig  well  clothed  with  leaves 

So,  sallying  forth,  with  the  supple  arm 

To  serve  as  a  talisman  parrying  harm. 

He  felt  that,  though  his  heart  was  big, 

'T  was  even  stouter  for  having  the  twig  ; 

For  this,  he  thought,  would  answer  to  switch 

The  horrors  away,  as  he  crossed  the  ditch, 


304  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

The  meadow  aud  copse,  wherein,  perchance, 
Will-o'-the-wisp  might  wickedly  dance  ; 
And,  wielding  it,  keep  him  from  having  a  chill 
At  the  menacing  sound  of  "  Whippoorwill ! " 
And  his  flesh  from  creeping  beside  the  bog 
At  the  harsh  bass  voice  of  the  viewless  frog ; 
In  short,  he  felt  that  the  switch  would  be 
Guard,  plaything,  business,  aud  company. 

When  he  got  safe  home,  and  joyfully  found 

He  still  was  himselt,  and  living,  and  sound. 

He  planted  the  twig  by  his  family  cot. 

To  stand  as  a  monument,  marking  the  spot 

It  helped  him  to  reach  ;  and,  what  was  still  more, 

Because  it  had  grown  by  his  fair  one's  door. 

The  twig  took  root ;  and,  as  time  flew  by, 
Its  boughs  spread  wide,  and  its  head  grew  high  ; 
A\"hile  the  priest's  good  service  had  long  been  done 
Which  made  the  youth  and  the  maiden  one  ; 
And  their  young  scions  arose  and  played 
Ai-ound  the  tree  in  its  leafy  shade. 


THE   PROPHECY   OF   SAMUEL   SEWALL. 

THIS  piece,  so  full  of  the  milk  of  human  kindness,  was 
written  to  disprove  the  opinion  advanced  by  the  Simple 
Cobbler  and  others,  to  whom  it  is  at  once  a  rebuke  and  an 
answer,  that  it  was  impossible  to  subsist  in  New  England  by 
the  labor  of  one's  hands  alone.  It  is  found  in  Sewall's  "  New 
Heaven  upon  the  New  Earth."  So  quaintly  is  it  expressed,  that 
only  the  original  language  can  fitly  set  forth  tlie  picture  of  pros- 
perous abundance  that  so  gladdened  the  good  old  man's  eyes 
wlien  looking  down  upon  it  from  tlie  Newbury  hills.     Eetain- 


THE  PROPHECY  OF  SAMUEL  SEWALL.       305 

ing  this  us  much  as  possible,  Mr.  Whittier  has  phrased  it  in 
poetic  form  that  is  singularly  like  the  prose  version. 

This,  let  us  say,  is  the  same  Samuel  Sewall  who,  as  one  of 
the  witchcraft  judges,  gained  a  lasting  notoriety,  and  whose 
marriage  to  Hannah,  the  daughter  of  Mint-master  John  Hull, 
originated  the  tradition  that  she  received  her  own  weight  in 
silver  Pine-Tree  shillings  as  a  wedding  portion.  The  family 
has  always  held  a  distinguished  place  in  the  annals  of  Colony 
and  State ;  and  Sewall's  remarkable  "  Diary,"  to  which  we 
have  before  referred,  is  a  storehouse  of  information  concern- 
ing the  events  and  manners  of  his  time.  The  prophecy  is  as 
follows  :  — 

"As  long  as  Plum  Island  shall  faithfully  keep  the  commanded 
Post,  Notwithstanding  the  hectoring  words  and  hard  blows  of  the 
proud  and  boisterous  ocean  ;  As  long  as  any  Salmon  or  Sturgeon 
shall  swim  in  the  streams  of  Merrimack,  or  any  Perch  or  Pickeril  in 
Crane  Pond  ;  As  long  as  the  Sea  Fowl  shall  know  the  time  of  their 
coming,  and  not  neglect  seasonably  to  visit  the  places  of  their  acquaint- 
ance ;  As  long  as  any  Cattel  shall  be  fed  with  the  Grass  growing  in 
the  meadows  which  doe  humbly  bow  themselves  before  Turkie  Hill  ; 
As  long  as  any  Sheep  shall  walk  upon  Old-town  Hills,  and  shall  from 
thence  pleasantly  look  down  upon  the  River  Parker  and  the  fruitfid 
IMarishes  lying  beneath ;  As  long  as  any  free  and  harmless  Doves 
shall  find  a  White  Oak  or  other  Tree  within  the  township  to  perch, 
or  feed,  or  build  a  careless  Nest  upon,  and  shall  voluntarily  present 
themselves  to  perform  the  office  of  Gleaners  after  Barley  Harvest ; 
As  long  as  Nature  shall  not  grow  old  and  dote,  but  shall  constantly 
remember  to  give  the  rows  of  Indian  Corn  their  education  by  Pairs, 
—  So  long  shall  Christians  be  born  there  ;  and  being  first  made  meet, 
shall  from  tlience  be  translated  to  be  made  partakers  of  the  Saints  of 
Light." 

PEOPHECY  OF   SA]\rUEL   SEWALL. 

J.    G.    WHITTIER. 

I  SEE  it  all  like  a  chart  unroUed, 

But  my  thoughts  are  full  of  the  past  and  old  ; 

I  hear  the  tales  of  my  boyhood  told, 


306  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Aiul  the  shadows  and  shapes  of  earh'  days 

Flit  dimly  by  in  the  veiling  haze, 

With  measured  movement  and  rhythmic  chime 

Weaving  like  shuttles  my  web  of  rhyme. 

I  think  of  the  old  man  wise  and  good 

Who  once  on  yon  misty  hillsides  stood, 

(A  poet  who  never  measured  rhyme, 

A  seer  unknown  to  his  dull-eared  time.) 

And,  propped  on  his  staff  of  age,  looked  down. 

With  his  boyhood's  love,  on  his  native  town, 

Where,  written,  as  if  on  its  hills  and  plains. 

His  burden  of  prophecy  yet  remains, 

For  the  voices  of  wood,  and  wave,  and  wind 

To  read  in  the  ear  of  the  musing  mind :  — 

"As  long  as  Plum  Island,  to  guard  the  coast, 
As  God  appointed,  shall  keep  its  post  ; 
As  long  as  a  salmon  shall  haunt  the  deep 
Of  Merrimack  River,  or  sturgeon  leap  ; 
As  long  as  pickerel,  swift  and  slim. 
Or  red-backed  perch,  in  Crane  Pond  swim  ; 
As  long  as  the  annual  sea-fowl  know 
Their  time  to  come  and  their  time  to  go  ; 
As  long  as  cattle  shall  roam  at  will 
The  green  grass  meadows  by  Turkey  Hill ; 
As  long  as  sheep  shall  look  from  the  side 
Of  Oldtown  Hill  on  marishes  wide. 
And  Parker  River,  and  salt-sea  tide  ; 
As  long  as  a  wandering  pigeon  shall  search 
The  fields  below  from  his  white-oak  perch. 
When  the  barley-harvest  is  ripe  and  shorn. 
And  the  dry  husks  fall  from  the  standing  corn  ; 
As  long  as  Nature  shall  not  grow  old, 
Nor  drop  her  work  from  her  doting  hold, 
And  her  care  for  the  Indian  corn  forget. 
And  the  yellow  rows  in  pairs  to  set, — 
So  long  shall  Christians  here  be  born. 
Grow  up  and  ripen  as  God's  sweet  corn,  — 
By  the  beak  of  bird,  by  the  breath  of  frost, 
Shall  never  a  holy  ear  be  lost, 


THE   DOUBLE-HEADED   SNAKE.  307 

But,  husked  by  Death,  in  the  Planter's  sight, 
Be  sown  again  in  the  fields  of  light  !  " 

The  Island  still  is  purple  with  plums, 

Up  the  river  the  salmon  comes, 

The  sturgeon  leaps,  and  the  wild-fowl  feeds 

On  hillside  berries  and  marish  seeds,  — 

All  the  beautiful  signs  remain, 

From  spring-time  sowing  to  autumn  rain 

The  good  man's  vision  returns  again  ! 

And  let  us  hope,  as  well  we  can, 

That  the  Silent  Angel  who  garners  man 

May  find  some  grain  as  of  old  he  found 

In  the  human  cornfield  ripe  and  sound. 

And  the  Lord  of  the  Harvest  deign  to  own 

The  precious  seed  by  the  fathers  sown  ! 


THE    DOUBLE-HEADED    SNAKE. 

ONE  does  not  go  far  into  the  history  of  our  legendary  lore 
without  making  the  discovery  that  Cotton  Mather's  study, 
like  that  of  his  father  before  him,  was  the  congenial  receptacle 
for  everything  that  might  happen  in  New  England  out  of  the 
common.  Upon  this  centre  the  dark  tales  converged  like  a 
flight  of  bats  in  the  night.  His  father  had  solicited  the  New- 
England  ministers  to  contribute  everything  of  a  marvellous 
character  that  might  come  within  their  knowledge  or  under 
their  observation,  to  the  end  that  the  mysterious  workings  of 
Providence  might  if  possible  be  cleared  up,  and  the  relation  to 
human  affairs,  —  which  it  was  not  for  a  moment  doubted  they 
sustained,  —  be  so  adjusted  as  to  point  a  moral  or  adorn  a  tale. 
To  this  sagacious  foresight  we  owe  that  singularly  interesting 
book,  the  "  Eemarkable  Providences,"  of  Increase  Mather.  To 
this  we  also  owe  the  Double-Headed  Snake  of  Newbury,  —  a 
reptile  that  would  certainly  have  made  the  fortune  of  any  itine- 


308 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


rant  showman  of  our  own  period,  have  put  the  four-legged  girl 
completely  into  the  shade,  and  have  caused  the  devil-tish  of 
Victor  Hugo  to  shed  tears  of  vexation. 

The  account  of  this  wonderful  snake  comes  in  a  letter  from 
the  Reverend  Christopher  Toppan,  minister  of  Newhury,  ad- 
dressed to  Cotton  Mather.  Considering  that  it  emanates  from 
a  source  so  entirely  respectable  and  trustworthy,  it  is  to  be  hoped 
that  nobody  will  treat  it  as  an  idle  village  tale.     He  writes  :  — 

"Concerning  the  Amphisbasna,  as  soon  as  I  received  your  commands 
I  made  diligent  enquiry  of  several  persons  who  saw  it  after  it  was 
dead.  .  .  .  They  directed  me,  for  further  information,  ...  to  the  per- 
sons who  saw  it  alive,  and  killed  it,  which  were  two  or  three  lads, 


g^&^5Q.^:^y^^K-£aa^.j^;^^%a 


YE   DOtTBLE-HEADED   SNAKE. 


about  twelve  or  fourteen  ;  one  of  which,  a  pert,  sensible  youngster,  told 
me  yt  one  of  his  mates,  running  towards  him,  cryed  out  there  was  a 
snake  with  two  heads  running  after  him,  upon  which  he  run  to  him  ; 
and  the  snake  getting  into  a  puddle  of  water,  he  with  a  stick  pulled 
him  out,  after  which  it  came  toward  him,  and  as  he  went  backwards 
and  forward,  so  the  snake  would  doe  likewise.  After  a  little  time,  the 
snake,  upon  his  striking  at  him,  gathered  up  his  whole  body  into  a 
sort  of  quoil,  except  both  heads,  which  kept  towards  him,  and  he  dis- 
tinctly saw  two  mouths  and  two  stings  (as  they  are  vulgarly  called), 
which  stings  or  tongues  it  kept  putting  forth  after  the  usual  manner 
of  snakes  till  he  killed  it. 


THE   DOUBLE-HEADED    SNAKE.  309 

'' Postscript.  ~  Before  ensealing  I  spoke  with  the  other  man  who 
examined  the  Aniphisbsena  (and  he  is  also  a  man  of  credit),  and  he 
assures  me  yt  it  had  really  two  heads,  one  at  each  end,  two  mouths, 
two  stings,  or  tongues,  and  so  forth. 

"  Sir,  I  have  nothing  more  to  add,  but  that  he  may  have  a  remem- 
brance in  your  prayers  who  is, 

"  Sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

"  Christopher  Toppan." 


THE  DOUBLE-HEADED   SNAKE   OF   NEWBUEY. 

J.    G.    WHITTIER. 

Far  away  in  the  twilight  time 
Of  every  people,  in  every  clime. 
Dragons  and  griffins  and  monsters  dire. 
Born  of  water,  and  air,  and  fire, 
Or  nursed,  like  the  Python,  in  the  nmd 
And  ooze  of  the  old  Deucalion  flood, 
Crawl  and  wriggle  and  foam  with  rage, 
Through  dusk  tradition  and  ballad  age. 
So  from  the  childhood  of  Newbury  town 
And  its  time  of  fable  the  tale  comes  down 
Of  a  terror  which  haunted  bush  and  brake. 
The  Amphisbaena,  the  Double  Snake  ! 

Whether  he  lurked  in  the  Oldtown  fen 

Or  the  gray  earth-flax  of  the  Devil's  Den, 

Or  swam  in  the  wooded  Artichoke, 

Or  coiled  by  the  Northman's  Written  Rock, 

Nothing  on  record  is  left  to  show ; 

Only  the  fact  that  he  lived,  we  know, 

And  left  the  cast  of  a  double  head 

In  the  scaly  mask  which  he  yearly  shed. 

For  he  carried  a  head  where  his  tail  should  be, 

And  the  two,  of  course,  could  never  agree, 

But  wriggled  about  with  main  and  might, 

Now  to  the  left  and  now  to  the  right ; 


310  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Pulling  and  twisting  this  way  and  that, 
Neither  knew  what  the  other  was  at. 

Far  and  wide  the  tale  was  told, 

Like  a  snowball  growing  while  it  rolled. 

The  nurse  hushed  with  it  the  baby's  cry  ; 

And  it  served,  in  the  worthy  minister's  eye, 

To  paint  the  primitive  serpent  by. 

Cotton  Mather  came  galloping  down 

All  the  way  to  Newbury  town, 

With  his  eyes  agog  and  his  ears  set  wide, 

And  his  marvellous  inkhorn  at  his  side  ; 

Stirring  the  while  in  the  shallow  pool 

Of  his  brains  for  the  lore  he  learned  at  school, 

To  garnish  the  story,  with  here  a' streak 

Of  Latin,  and  there  another  of  Greek  : 

And  the  tales  he  heard  and  the  notes  he  took, 

Behold !  are  they  not  in  his  Wonder-Book  I 


THOMAS    I^IACY,    THE    EXILE. 

THE  archives  of  Massachusetts  once  more  furnish  the  inci- 
dent concerning  which,  as  in  the  "  King's  Missive,"  a 
letter  —  a  mere  scrap  —  has  sufficed  for  the  poet  to  construct  his 
legend. 

Thomas  Macy,  yeoman,  of  Salisbury,  in  the  county  of  Essex, 
is  the  su\)ject  of  Whittier's  ballad  entitled  "The  Exiles,"  which 
first  appeared  in  the  "  North  Star,"  a  Philadelphia  annual.  As  it 
-was  then  published,  it  had  two  stanzas  more  than  it  no-w  has  in 
the  author's  collected  poems. 

This  Macy,  the  hero  of  the  poem,  was  complained  of  for  hav- 
ing given  shelter  to  some  "  notorious "  Quakers,  or  vagabonds, 
as  the  law  then  termed  them,  in  his  own  liouse.  This  simple 
act  of  hospitality  being  in  violation  of  the  law  prohibiting  any 
man  to  open  his  door  to  a  Quaker,  no  matter  how  urgent  soever 


THOMAS  MACY,  THE  EXILE.  311 

the  call  upon  his  humanity  might  be,  Macy,  the  offending  cul- 
prit, was  cited  forthwith  to  appear  before  the  General  Court  at 
Boston  to  answer  the  complaint  preferred  against  him. 

Instead  of  complying  with  the  requisition  which  very  few 
would  be  found  willing  in  those  days  to  disobey,  Macy  wrote  an 
humble,  apologetic,  and  deprecatory  letter  to  the  General  Court. 
The  letter  indicates  a  man  of  a  very  different  stamp  from  the 
antique  hero  that  the  poem  depicts  in  the  act  of  cheating  the 
minions  of  the  law  of  their  prey.  From  its  terms  we  have  little 
notion  that  the  "Bold  Macy,"  as  he  is  styled  there,  was  cast  in 
the  same  stern  mould  that  the  martyrs  are ;  but  we  have  a  very 
distinct  one,  that  if  not  actually  a  craven,  he  believed  that  in  hia 
case  discretion  was  the  better  part  of  valor.  At  any  rate,  he 
wisely  concluded  to  keep  out  of  the  clutches  of  the  law,  and  did 
so.  We  are  sure  that  the  reader  would  regard  any  tampering 
with  Macy's  letter  as  unpardonable  as  we  do.     He  says  : 

"  This  is  to  entreat  the  honored  court  not  to  be  offended  because 
of  my  non-appearance.  It  is  not  from  any  slighting  the  authority  of 
this  honored  court,  nor  from  feare  to  answer  the  case,  but  I  have  bin 
for  some  weeks  past  very  ill,  and  am  so  at  present,  and  notwithstand- 
ing my  illness,  yet  I,  desirous  to  appear,  have  done  my  utmost 
endeavour  to  hire  a  horse,  but  cannot  procure  one  at  present.  I  being 
at  present  destitute  have  endeavoured  to  purchase,  but  at  present  cant 
not  attaine  it,  but  I  shall  relate  the  truth  of  the  case  as  my  answer 
should  be  to  ye  honored  court,  and  more  cannot  be  proved,  nor  so 
much.  On  a  rainy  morning  there  came  to  my  house  Edward  Whar- 
ton and  three  men  more  ;  the  said  Wharton  spoke  to  me,  saying  that 
they  were  traveling  eastward,  and  desired  me  to  direct  them  in  the 
way  to  Hampton,  and  asked  me  how  far  it  was  to  Casco  bay.  I  never 
saw  any  of  ye  men  afore  except  Wharton,  neither  did  I  require  their 
names,  or  who  they  were,  but  by  their  carriage  I  thought  they  might 
be  Quakers,  and  told  them  so,  and  therefore  desired  them  to  passe  on 
their  way,  saying  to  them  I  might  possibly  give  offence  in  entertain- 
ing them,  and  as  soone  as  the  violence  of  the  rain  ceased  (for  it  rained 
very  hard)  they  went  away,  and  I  never  saw  theni  since.  The  time 
that  they  stayed  in  the  house  was  about  three  quarters  of  an  hour, 
but  I  can  safely  affirme  it  was  not  an  hour.     They  spake  not  many 


312 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


words  in  the  time,  neither  was  I  at  leisure  to  talke  with  them,  for  I 
came  home  wet  to  the  skin  immediately  afore  they  came  to  the  house, 
and  I  found  my  wife  sick  in  bed.  If  this  satisfie  not  the  honored 
court,  I  shall  subject  to  their  sentence.  I  have  not  willingly  offended. 
I  am  ready  to  serve  and  obey  you  in  the  Lord. 

"Tho.  Macy." 


ESCAPE    OF    GOODMAN   MACY. 


Three  of  these  men,  being  preachers,  could  look  for  no  mercy 
from  the  Puritan  authorities,  who  charged  them  Avith  going  about 
seducing  his  Majesty's  good  subjects  to  their  "  cursed  "  opinions. 
One  of  them,  Edward  Wharton,  was  an  old  offender.  Two  of 
them,  Tlobinson  and  Stevenson,  are  the  same  persons  who,  a 
little  later  on,  were  hanged  at  Boston,  as  related  in  our  account 
of  Mrs.  Dyer.  These  itinerants  undoubtedly  knew  where  to 
apply,  and  to  whom.  Macy  knew  Wharton  ;  he  was  fully 
aware  of  the  risk  that  he  ran  in  breaking  the  law.     But  he  and 


THOMAS  MACY,  THE  EXILE.  313 

other  Quakers  of  Newbury  and  Salisbury  had  already  purchased 
the  Island  of  Nantucket,  to  which  it  now  seems  probable  that 
they  intended  removing  out  of  harm's  way,  as  that  island  was 
not  within  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Bay  Colony. 

Having  thus  secured  an  asylum  in  advance,  and  the  General 
Court  refusing  to  allow  his  explanation  or  accept  his  apology, 
tradition  now  steps  in  to  inform  us  that,  immediately  upon 
learning  the  sentence  of  the  Court,  Macy  and  his  wife  took  an 
open  boat,  put  their  children  and  their  movable  effects  into  it, 
and  in  this  frail  conveyance  they  made  their  way  along  the 
coast  to  Cape  Cod,  and  thence  to  Nantucket.  Edward  Starbuck, 
of  Salisbury,  accompanied  them.  Through  persecution,  then, 
Macy  became  the  first  white  inhabitant  of  this  famed  isle  of  the 
sea;  and  from  his  lauding  at  Maddequet  in  the  autumn  of  1659 
its  settlement  dates  in  history. 

The  ballad  supposes  Macy's  house  to  be  suddenly  surrounded 
by  a  troop  of  horsemen  while  the  proscribed  Wharton  is  under 
the  protection  of  his  roof  Macy  disputes  with  the  sheriff  until 
the  minister,  who  is  supposed  to  be  present,  urges  the  officer  also 
to  seize  Macy,  whereupon  the  goodman  and  his  wife,  breaking 
away  from  them,  run  for  the  river  :  — 

Ho !  speed  the  Macys,  neck  or  naught,  — 

The  river-course  was  near :  — 
The  plashing  on  its  pebbled  shore 

Was  nuisic  to  their  ear. 


A  leap  —  they  gain  the  boat  — and  there 
The  goodman  wields  his  oar  : 

"  ni  luck  betide  them  all," —  he  cried,  — 
"  The  laggards  upon  the  shore." 

Down  through  the  crashing  underwood, 

The  burly  sheriff  came  :  — 
"  Stand,  goodman  Macy, — yield  thyself; 

Yield  in  the  King's  own  name." 


314  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

"  Now  out  upon  thy  hangman's  face  ! " 
Bold  Macy  answered  then,  — 

"  Whip  women  on  the  village  green, 
But  meddle  not  with  men." 

With  skilful  hand  and  wary  eye 
The  harbor-bar  was  crossed  ;  — 

A  plaything  of  the  restless  wave, 
The  boat  on  ocean  tossed. 


They  passed  the  gray  rocks  of  Cape  Arm, 
And  Gloucester's  harbor-bar ; 

The  watch-fire  of  the  garrison 
Shone  like  a  setting  star. 

Far  round  the  bleak  and  stormy  Cape 

The  vent'rous  Macy  passed, 
And  on  Nantucket's  naked  isle, 

Drew  up  his  boat  at  last. 

And  yet  that  isle  remaineth 

A  refuge  of  the  free, 
As  when  true-hearted  Macy 

Beheld  it  from  the  sea. 

God  bless  the  sea-beat  island  !  — 

And  grant  for  evermore, 
That  charity  and  freedom  dwell 

As  now  upon  her  shore  ! 


TELLING    THE    BEES. 

RESPECTING  bees,  one  very  old  superstition  among  others 
is,  as  T  can  strictly  affirm,  still  cherished,  surviving,  appar- 
ently, through  that  peculiarity  of  the  mind  which,  the  event  being 
uncertain,  elects  to  give  it  the  benetit  of  the  doubt  rather  than  to 


TELLING   THE    BEES. 


315 


discard  it  as  a  childish  and  meaningless  custom.  This  is  the  com- 
mon belief  that  bees  must  be  made  acquainted  with  the  death  of 
any  member  of  the  family,  otherwise  these  intelligent  little  crea- 
tures will  either  desert  the  hive  in  a  pet,  or  leave  off  working  and 
die  inside  of  it.  The  old  way  of  doing  this  was  for  the  good  wife 
of  the  house  to  go  and  hang  the  stand  of  hives  with  black,  the 
usual  symbol  of  mourning,  she  at  the  same  time  softly  humming 
some  doleful  tune  to  herself.     Another  way  was  for  the  master 


to  approach  the  hives  and  rap  gently  upon  them.  When  the 
bees'  attention  was  thus  secured,  he  would  say  in  a  low  voice 
that  such  or  such  a  person  —  mentioning  the  name  —  was  dead. 
This  pretty  and  touching  superstition  is  the  subject  of  one  of 
Whittier's  "  Home  Ballads." 

Here  is  the  place  ;  right  over  the  hill 

Runs  the  path  I  took ; 
You  can  see  the  gap  in  the  old  wall  still. 

And  the  stepping-stones  in  the  shallow  brook. 


There  are  the  beehives  ranged  in  the  sun  ; 

And  down  by  the  brink 
Of  the  brook  are  her  poor  flowers,  weed  o'errun, 

Pansv  and  daffodil,  rose  and  pink. 


316  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

Before  them,  under  the  garden-wall, 

Forward  and  back, 
Went  drearily'  singing  the  chore-girl  sinaU, 

Draping  each  hive  with  a  shred  of  black. 

Trembling,  I  listened  :  the  summer  sun 

Had  the  chill  of  snow  ; 
For  I  knew  she  was  telling  the  bees  of  one 

Gone  on  the  journey  we  all  must  go ! 

Then  I  said  to  myself,  "  My  Mary  weeps 

For  the  dead  to-day  : 
Haply  her  blind  old  grandsire  sleeps 

The  fret  and  the  pain  of  his  age  away." 

But  her  dog  whined  low  ;  on  the  doorway  sill, 

With  his  cane  to  his  chin, 
The  old  man  sat ;  and  the  chore-girl  still 

Sung  to  the  bees  stealing  out  and  in. 

"Stay  at  home,  pretty  bees,  fly  not  hence! 
Mistress  Mary  is  dead  and  gone ! " 


HAMPTON    AND    PORTSMOUTH    LEGENDS. 


HAMPTON    LEGENDS. 


THE  strip  of  coast  extending  from  the  Merrimack  to  the 
Piscataqua  is  an  almost  unbroken  line  of  hard  sand-beach 
washed  by  the  ocean.  Salisbury  Sands  begins  and  Hampton 
and  Rye  continue  the  line  that  is  only  interrupted  where  some 
creek  cuts  a  way  through  it,  or 
some  bleak  foreland  tlirusts 
itself  out  from  the  shore.  Salis- 
bury has  for  more  than  a  hun- 
dred years  been  celebrated  for 
the  annual  gatherings  that  its 
citizens  hold  on  the  beach  there, 
in  imitation  of  the  "  clam  feasts  " 
of  the  Indians,  with  whom  the 
custom  originated,  and  who  made 
the  occasion  one  of  much  ceremony  and  solemnity,  inasmuch 
as  the  sea  was  to  them  a  great  harvest-field  provided  by  their 
God  of  Plenty  for  the  sustenance  of  his  red  children. 

Whittier's  "  Tent  on  the  Beach  "  was  pitched  at  the  mouth  of 
Hampton  River,  at  the  extremity  of  the  Salisbury  Sands ;  and 


BOAR  S    HEAD. 


320  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

this  is  also  the  locality  of  the  "  Wreck  of  Eivermouth,"  found 
in  that  collection,  which  is  something  in  the  manner  of  Long- 
fellow's "  Tales  of  a  Wayside  Inn,"  the  "  tent "  here  doing  the 
duty  of  the  ancient  tavern  there.  Both  are,  however,  in  their 
method,  a  distinct  reminiscence  of  the  "Decamerone"  of  Boc- 
caccio. But  Whittier's  is  a  voice  arising  from  the  sea,  full  of  its 
charm  and  mystery.     Standing  at  his  tent  door,  — 

Northward  a  green  bluff  broke  the  chain 
Of  sand-bills  ;  southward  stretched  a  plain 
Of  salt-grass,  with  a  river  winding  down. 
Sail-whitened,  and  beyond  the  steeples  of  the  town. 

That  is  Boar's  Head;  the  Merrimack,  with  Newburyport  in 
the  distance. 

Again,  the  poet  points  us  to  — 

■     the  sunny  isles  in  view. 
East  of  the  grisly  Head  of  the  Boar ; 

and  then  to  where  — 

Agamenticus  lifts  its  blue 
Disk  of  a  cloud  tlie  woodlands  o'er. 

So  we  feel  that  the  "  Tent  on  the  Beach,"  instead  of  emanat- 
ing from  within  the  narrow  limits  of  four  walls,  where  the  doors 
are  securely  bolted  and  barred  against  the  Aveather,  is  the  voice 
of  Xature  herself,  —  of  the  free  breeze,  the  billows,  and  the  foam, 
which  imparts  the  invigorating  quality  to  these  verses,  and  gives 
them  a  distinct  and  captivating  out-of-door  flavor. 

Of  his  legendary  stories  that  are  associated  with  Hampton  the 
poet  says  :  — 

A  simple  plot  is  mine  :  legends  and  runes 
Of  credulous  days  ;  old  fancies,  that  have  lain 
Silent  from  boyhood,  taking  voice  again, 
Warmed  into  life  once  more,  even  as  the  tunes 
That,  frozen  in  tlie  fablud  hunting-horn, 
Thawed  into  sound. 


HAMPTON   LEGENDS.  321 

Haiiipton,  formerly  the  Indian  Winnicumet,  is  an  old  border 
settlement  of  the  Bay  Colony,  that  was  transferred,  through  the 
blundering  of  her  agents,  to  New  Hampshire  when  the  long 
dispute  about  the  boundary  between  the  two  governments  was 
finally  settled.  The  singular  and  apparently  eccentric  course  of 
this  line,  resembling  a  Virginia  fence,  is  not  due  to  chance,  but 
to  the  crookedness  of  Colonial  politics.  While  this  controversy 
was  pending,  the  legislative  bodies  of  both  governments  once 
held  a  session  at  Hampton  Falls,  —  which  course,  it  was  thought, 
by  bringing  the  rival  interests  together,  might  end  the  dispute, 
but  did  not.  Whereupon  some  poetaster  of  the  period  gave  the 
following  rhymed  version  of  the  "  pomp  and  circumstance " 
attending  the  entry  of  the  Massachusetts  dignitaries  into  the 
humble  frontier  village.     He  says  :  — 

Dear  Paddy,  you  ne'er  did  behold  such  a  sight 

As  yesterday  morning  was  seen  before  night. 

You  in  all  your  born  days  saw,  nor  I  did  n't  neither, 

So  many  fine  horses  and  men  ride  together. 

At  the  head  the  lower  house  trotted  two  in  a  row, 

Then  all  the  higher  house  pranced  after  the  low  ; 

Then  the  Governor's  coach  galloped  on  like  the  wind, 

And  the  last  that  came  foremost  were  troopers  behind. 

But  I  fear  it  means  no  good  to  your  neck  nor  mine, 

For  they  say  't  is  to  fix  a  right  place  for  the  line. 

As  soon  as  you  have  crossed  this  line,  the  people,  pointing 
toward  their  mountains,  will  tell  you  that  there  is  no  air  like  New- 
Hampshire  air.  As  soon  as  you  shall  have  passed  beyond  this 
boundary  you  no  longer  breathe  the  atmosphere  of  the  old 
Puritan  life,  but  one  emanating  from  a  different  and  antagonistic 
source,  —  into  which,  nevertheless,  the  more  vigorous  currents 
-originating  on  the  other  side  of  the  border  constantly  infused 
themselves  and  kept  it  pure. 

The  most  interesting  thing  about  Hampton,  apart  from   its 
legends,  is  the  singular  promontory  of  Boar's  Head,  which  is 
•one  of  the  noted  resorts  of  the  New-England  coast,  and  one  of 
the  earliest  to  be  visited  for  health  or  pleasure. 
21 


322  NEW-EXGLAXD   LEGENDS. 

Boar's  Head  is  indeed  a  puzzle.  It  is  a  heap  of  drift  gently 
ascending  from  the  marshes  to  the  crumbling  brow  of  a  lofty- 
headland,  against  which,  far  below  you,  the  sea  dashes  wildly. 
The  bowlders  sticking  in  its  sides  look  as  if  they  might  have 
been  shot  there  in  the  days  when  stones  supplied  the  want  of 
cannon-balls ;  for  we  look  around  without  seeing  anything  to 
account  for  their  presence.  It  is  wind-swept  and  treeless.  A  few 
dwarf  junipers  and  some  clumps  of  bushes  cling  mournfully  to  its 
sides,  which  they  are  iinable  to  ascend.  A  low  reef  stretching 
out  towards  the  southeast,  resembling  the  broken  vertebrae  of 
some  fabled  sea-monster,  shows  in  what  direction  the  grand  old 
headland  has  most  suffered  from  the  unremitting  work  of  demo- 
lition carried  on  by  the  waves,  which  pour  and  break  like  an 
avalanche  over  the  blackened  bowlders,  and  fly  hissing  into  the 
air  like  the  dust  rising  from  its  ruins.  As  if  to  confirm  this 
theory,  nothing  grows  on  the  southeast  point,  while  on  the 
northeast  grasses  flourish  and  daisies  nod  to  the  cool  sea-breeze. 
We  say  again.  Boar's  Head  is  a  puzzle. 

It  is  indeed  an  inspiring  sight  to  see  the  surf  breaking  on 
each  side  of  you  in  a  continuous  line  of  foam  from  the  mouth 
of  the  Merrimack  to  Little  Boar's  Head,  and  then,  turning  tow- 
ards the  ofiing,  see  the  dark  cluster  of  the  Isles  of  Shoals  lying 
low  on  the  still  more  extended  expanse  of  the  ocean. 


JONATHAN    MOULTON    AND    THE    DEVIL. 

(From  "The  Heart  of  the  AMiite  Mountains.") 

THE  legendary  hero  of  Hampton  is  General  Jonathan 
Moulton.  He  is  no  fictitious  personage,  but  one  of  ver- 
itable flesh  and  blood,  who,  having  acquired  considerable  celebrity 
in  the  old  wars,  lives  on  through  the  medium  of  a  local  legend. 

The  General,  says  the  legend,  encountered  a  far  more  notable 
adversary  than  Abenaki  warriors  or  conjurers,  among  whom  he 


324  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

had  lived,  aud  whom  it  was  the  passion  of  his  life  to  exter- 
minate. 

In  an  evil  hour  his  yearning  to  amass  wealth  suddenly  led 
him  to  declare  that  he  would  sell  his  soul  for  the  possession  of 
unbounded  riches.  Think  of  the  Devil,  and  he  is  at  your  elbow. 
The  fatal  declaration  was  no  sooner  made  —  the  General  was 
sitting  alone  by  his  fireside  —  than  a  shower  of  sparks  came 
down  the  chimney,  out  of  which  stepped  a  man  dressed  from 
top  to  toe  in  black  velvet.  The  astonished  Moulton  noticed 
that  the  stranger's  ruffles  were  not  even  smutted. 

"  Your  servant.  General !  "  quoth  the  stranger,  suavely.  "  But 
let  us  make  haste,  if  you  please,  for  I  am  expected  at  the  Gov- 
ernor's in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,"  he  added,  picking  up  a  live 
coal  with  his  thumb  and  forefinger,  and  consulting  his  watch 
with  it. 

The  General's  wits  began  to  desert  him.  Portsmouth  was 
five  leagues  —  long  ones  at  that  —  from  Hampton  House,  and  his 
strange  visitor  talked,  with  the  utmost  unconcern,  of  getting 
there  in  fifteen  minutes!  His  astonishment  caused  him  to  stam- 
mer out,  — 

"  Then  you  must  be  the  —  '" 

"Tush!  what  signifies  a  namel"  interrupted  the  stranger, 
with  a  deprecating  Avave  of  the  hand.  "  Come,  do  we  under- 
stand each  other]     Is  it  a  bargain,  or  not  1 " 

At  the  talismanic  word  "  bargain  "  the  General  pricked  up  his 
ears.  He  had  often  been  heard  to  say  that  neither  man  nor 
devil  could  get  the  better  of  him  in  a  trade.  He  took  out  his 
jack-knife  and  began  to  whittle.  The  Devil  took  out  his,  and 
began  to  pare  his  nails. 

"  But  what  proof  have  I  that  you  can  perform  what  you 
promise  1 "  demanded  Moulton,  pursing  up  his  mouth  and  con- 
tracting his  bushy  eyebrows,  like  a  man  who  is  not  to  be  taken 
in  by  mere  appearances. 

The  fiend  ran  his  fingers  carelessly  through  his  peruke,  when 
a  shower  of  golden  guineas  fell  to  the  floor  and  rolled  to  the 
four  corners  of  the  room.     The  General  quickly  stooped  to  pick 


JONATHAN    MOULTON    AND    THE    DEVIL.  325 

up  one ;  but  no  sooner  had  his  fingers  closed  upon  it,  than  he 
dropped  it  with  a  yell.     It  was  red-hot ! 

The  Devil  chuckled ;  "Try  again,"  he  said.  But  Moulton 
shook  his  head  and  retreated  a  step. 

"  Don't  be  afraid." 

Moulton  cautiously  touched  a  coin  ;  it  was  cool.  He  weighed 
it  in  his  hand,  and  rung  it  on  the  table  ;  it  was  full  weight  and 
true  ring.  Then  he  went  down  on  his  hands  and  knees,  and 
began  to  gather  up  the  guineas  with  feverish  haste. 

"  Are  you  satisfied  1 "  demanded  Satan. 

"Completely,  your  Majesty." 

"  Then  to  business.  By  the  way,  have  you  anything  to  drink 
in  the  house  1 " 

"  There  is  some  Old  Jamaica  in  the  cupboard." 

"  Excellent !  I  am  as  thirsty  as  a  Puritan  on  election-day," 
said  the  Devil,  seating  himself  at  the  table,  and  negligently 
flinging  his  mantle  back  over  his  shoulder,  so  as  to  show  the 
jewelled  clasps  of  his  doublet. 

Moulton  brought  a  decanter  and  a  couple  of  glasses  from  the 
cupboard,  filled  one,  and  passed  it  to  his  infernal  guest,  who 
tasted  it,  and  smacked  his  lips  with  the  air  of  a  connoisseur. 
Moulton  watched  every  gesture.  "  Does  your  Excellency  not 
find  it  to  your  taste  1 "  he  ventured  to  ask  :  having  the  secret 
idea  that  he  might  get  the  Devil  drunk,  and  so  outwit  him. 

"H'm,  I  have  drunk  worse.  But  let  me  show  you  how  to 
make  a  salamander,"  replied  Satan,  touching  the  lighted  end  of 
the  taper  to  the  liquor,  which  instantly  burst  into  a  spectral  blue 
flame.  The  fiend  then  raised  the  tankard  to  the  height  of  his 
eye,  glanced  approvingly  at  the  blaze,  —  which  to  Moulton's 
disordered  intellect  resembled  an  adder's  forked  and  agile  tongue, 
—  nodded,  and  said,  patronizingly,  "•To  our  better  acquaint- 
ance ! "     He  then  quaffed  the  contents  at  a  single  gulp. 

Moulton  shuddered ;  this  was  not  the  way  he  had  been 
used  to  seeing  healths  drunk.  He  pretended,  however,  to  drink, 
for  f(?ar  of  giving  offence  ;  but  somehow  the  liquor  choked  him. 
The  demon  set  down  the  tankard,  and  observed,  in  a  matter-of- 


326  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

fact  way  that  put  his  listener  iu  a  cold  sweat  :  "  Xow  that  you 
are  convinced  I  am  able  to  make  you  the  richest  man  in  all  the 
province,  listen  !  Have  I  your  ear]  It  is  well!  In  considera- 
tion of  your  agreement,  duly  signed  and  sealed,  to  deliver  your 
soul "  —  here  he  drew  a  parchment  from  his  breast  —  "I  engage, 
on  my  part,  on  the  first  day  of  every  month,  to  fill  your  boots 
with  golden  elephants,  like  these  before  you.  But  mark  me 
well,"  said  Satan,  holding  up  a  forefinger  glittering  with  dia- 
monds, "  if  you  try  to  play  me  any  trick,  you  will  repent  it !  I 
know  you,  Jonathan  Moulton,  and  shall  keep  my  eye  upon  you ; 
so  beware  I " 

Moulton  flinched  a  little  at  this  plain  speech ;  but  a  thought 
seemed  to  strike  him,  and  he  brightened  up.  Satan  opened  the 
scroll,  smoothed  out  the  creases,  dipped  a  pen  in  the  inkhorn  at 
bis  girdle,  and  pointing  to  a  blank  space,  said,  laconically, 
"  Sign ! " 

]Moulton  hesitated. 

"If  you  are  afraid,"  sneered  Satan,  "why  put  me  to  all  this 
trouble  1 "  and  he  began  to  put  the  gold  in  his  pocket. 

His  victim  seized  the  pen;  but  his  hand  shook  so  that  he  could 
not  write.  He  gulped  down  a  mouthful  of  rum,  stole  a  look  at 
his  infernal  guest,  who  nodded  his  head  by  way  of  encourage- 
ment, and  a  second  time  approached  his  pen  to  the  paper.  The 
struggle  was  soon  over.  The  unhappy  Moulton  Avrote  his  name 
at  the  bottom  of  the  fatal  list,  which  he  was  astonished  to  see 
numbered  some  of  the  highest  personages  in  the  province.  "  I 
shall  at  least  be  in  good  company,"  he  muttered. 

"  Good ! "  said  Satan,  rising  and  putting  the  scroll  carefully 
away  within  his  breast.  "  Eely  on  me,  General,  and  be  sure  you 
keep  faith.  Eemember  1  "  So  saying,  the  demon  waved  his 
hand,  flung  his  mantle  about  him,  and  vanished  up  the  chinmey. 

Satan  performed  his  part  of  the  contract  to  the  letter.  On  the 
first  day  of  every  month  the  boots,  which  were  hung  on  the  crane 
in  the  fireplace  the  night  before,  were  found  in  the  morning  stuflTed 
full  of  guineas.  It  is  time  that  ]\Ioulton  had  ransacked  the  vil- 
lage for  the  largest  pair  to  be  found,  and  had  finally  secured  a 


JONATHAN    MOULTON   AND   THE    DEVIL.  327 

brace  of  trooper's  jack-boots,  which  came  nearly  up  to  the 
wearer's  thigh ;  but  the  contract  merely  expressed  boots,  and 
the  Devil  does  not  stand  upon  trifles. 

Moulton  rolled  in  wealth  ;  everything  prospered.  His  neigh- 
bors regarded  him  first  with  envy,  then  with  aversion,  at  last 
with  fear.  IS'ot  a  few  affirmed  that  he  had  entered  into  a 
league  with  the  Evil  One.  Others  shook  their  heads,  saying, 
"What  does  it  signify?  —  that  man  would  outwit  the  Devil 
himself." 

But  one  morning,  when  the  fiend  came  as  usual  to  fill  the 
boots,  what  was  his  astonishment  to  find  that  he  could  not  till 
them.  He  poured  in  the  guineas,  but  it  was  like  pouring  water 
into  a  rat-hole.  The  more  he  put  in,  the  more  the  quantity 
seemed  to  diminish.  In  vain  he  persisted  ;  the  boots  could  not 
be  filled. 

The  Devil  scratched  his  ear.  "  I  must  look  into  this,"  he 
reflected.  No  sooner  said,  than  he  attempted  to  descend  ;  but  in 
doing  so  he  found  his  progress  suddenly  stopped.  A  good 
reason.  The  chimney  was  choked  up  with  guineas  !  Foaming 
with  rage,  the  demon  tore  the  boots  from  the  crane.  The  crafty 
General  had  cut  off  the  soles,  leaving  only  the  legs  for  the  Devil 
to  fill.     The  chamber  was  knee-deep  with  gold. 

The  Devil  gave  a  horrible  grin,  and  disappeared.  The  same 
night  Hampton  House  was  burned  to  the  ground,  the  General  only 
escaping  in  his  shirt.  He  had  been  dreaming  he  was  dead  and 
in  hell.  His  precious  guineas  were  secreted  in  the  wainscot,  the 
ceihng,  and  other  hiding-places  known  only  to  himself.  He 
blasphemed,  wept,  and  tore  his  hair.  Suddenly  he  grew  calm. 
After  all,  the  loss  was  not  irreparable,  he  reflected.  Gold  would 
melt,  it  is  true  ;  but  he  would  find  it  all,  —  of  course  he  would,  — 
at  daybreak,  run  into  a  solid  lump  in  the  cellar,  —  every  guinea. 
That  is  true  of  ordinary  gold. 

The  General  worked  with  the  energy  of  despair,  clearing  away 
the  rubbish.  He  refused  all  offers  of  assistance ;  he  dared  not 
accept  them.  But  the  gold  had  vanished.  Whether  it  was 
really  consumed,  or  had  passed  again  into  the  massy  entrails  of 


328  KEW-EXGLAND   LEGENDS. 

the  earth,  will  never  be  known.  It  is  only  certain  that  every 
vestige  of  it  had  disappeared. 

When  the  General  died  and  was  buried,  strange  rumors  began 
to  circulate.  To  quiet  them,  the  grave  was  opened ;  but  when 
the  lid  was  removed  from  the  coffin,  it  was  found  to  be  empty. 

Another  legend  runs  to  the  effect  that  upon  the  death  of  his 
wife  under — as  evil  report  would  have  it — very  suspicious 
circumstances,  the  General  paid  his  court  to  a  young  woman 
who  had  been  the  companion  of  his  deceased  spouse.  They 
were  married.  In  the  middle  of  the  night  the  young  bride 
awoke  Avith  a  start.  She  felt  an  invisible  hand  trying  to  take 
off  from  her  finger  the  wedding-ring  that  had  once  belonged  to 
the  dead  and  buried  Mrs.  Moulton.  Shrieking  with  fright,  she 
jumped  out  of  bed,  thus  awaking  her  husband,  who  tried  in 
vain  to  calm  her  fears.  Candles  were  lighted  and  search  made 
for  the  ring  ;  but  as  it  could  never  be  found  again,  the  ghostly 
visitor  was  supposed  to  have  carried  it  away  with  her.  This 
story  is  the  same  that  is  told  by  Whittier  in  the  "  JS'ew  Wife 
and  the  Old." 


GOODY     COLE. 

GOODWIFE  Eunice  Cole,  the  witch  of  Hampton,  was  for  a 
quarter  of  a  century  or  more  the  terror  of  the  people  of 
that  town,  who  believed  her  to  have  sold  herself  body  and  soul 
to  the  Devil.  Whom  we  hate  we  also  fear.  The  bare  mention 
of  her  name  would,  it  is  said,  hush  crying  children  into  silence, 
or  hurry  truant  boys  to  school.  Although  she  was  repeatedly 
thrown  into  prison,  she  was  yet  unaccountably  suffered  to  con- 
tinue to  live  the  life  of  an  outcast,  until  death  finally  freed  the 
community  from  .their  fears.  In  1680  she  was  brought  before 
the  Quarter  Sessions  to  answer  to  the  cliarge  of  being  a  witch ; 
and  though  there  was  "noe  full  proof"  that  she  was  a  witch,  yet 
for  the  satisfaction  of  the  Court,  which  "vehemently  suspects  her 


THE    WEECK    OF   RIVEKMOUTH.  329 

SO  to  be,"  and  probably  too  of  the  people,  Major  Waldron,  the 
presiding  magistrate,  ordered  her  to  be  imprisoned,  with  "  a  lock 
kept  on  her  leg,"  at  the  pleasure  of  the  Court.  As  she  was  first 
prosecuted  as  early  as  1656,  she  must  have  been  a  very  old 
woman  when  this  harsh  sentence  was  pronounced.  For  some 
years  —  how  many  it  is  not  known  —  Goody  Cole  lived  alone  in  a 
hovel  which  stood  a  little  way  back  from  the  spot  where  the 
Academy  now  stands  ;  and  in  this  wretched  hut,  without  a  friend 
to  sootlie  her  last  moments,  she  miserably  died.  Several  days 
elapsed  before  her  death  became  known ;  and  even  then,  such 
was  the  fear  her  supposed  powers  had  inspired,  that  it  required 
a  great  deal  of  courage  on  the  part  of  the  inhabitants  to  force 
an  entrance  into  her  cabin,  where  she  lay  dead.  When  this  had 
been  done,  the  body  was  dragged  outside,  a  hole  hastily  dug, 
into  which  it  was  tumbled,  and  then  —  conformably  with  current 
superstition  —  a  stake  was  driven  through  it,  in  order  to  exorcise 
the  baleful  influence  she  was  supposed  to  have  possessed. 

The  ballad  supposes  her  to  have  cast  the  spell  of  her  malevo- 
lence over  a  merry  company  of  villagers  who  sailed  out  of  the 
river  for  a  day  of  pleasure,  —  soon  to  be  turned  into  mourning 
by  the  drowning  of  the  whole  party,  the  storm  in  which  they 
perished  being  raised  by  Goody  Cole. 


THE   WRECK   OF   EI  VERMOUTH. 

J.  G.  WHITTIER. 

Once,  in  the  old  Colonial  days, 

Two  hundred  years  ago  and  more, 
A  boat  sailed  down  through  the  winding  ways 

Of  Hampton  River  to  that  low  shore, 
Full  of  a  goodly  company 
Sailing  out  on  the  summer  sea, 
Veering  to  catch  the  land-breeze  light, 
With  the  Boar  to  left  and  the  Rocks  to  right. 


330  NEW-EXGLAXD   LEGENDS. 

"  Fie  on  the  witch ! "  cried  a  merry  girl, 

As  they  rounded  the  point  where  Goody  Cole 

Sat  by  her  door  with  her  wheel  atwirl, 
A  bent  and  blear-eyed  poor  old  soul. 

"  Oho  !  "  she  muttered,  "  ye  're  brave  to-day ! 

But  I  hear  the  little  waves  laugh  and  say, 

'  The  broth  will  be  cold  that  waits  at  home  ; 

For  it 's  one  to  go,  but  another  to  come ! '  " 

"  She  's  cursed,"  said  the  skipper  ;  "  speak  her  fair 

I  'm  scary  always  to  see  her  shake 
Her  wicked  head,  with  its  wild  gray  hair. 

And  nose  like  a  hawk,  and  eyes  like  a  snake." 
But  merrily  still,  with  laugh  and  shout, 
From  Hampton  Eiver  the  boat  sailed  out. 
Till  the  huts  and  the  flakes  on  Star  seemed  nigh. 
And  they  lost  the  scent  of  the  pines  of  Rye. 

They  dropped  their  lines  in  the  lazy  tide, 
Drawing  up  haddock  and  mottled  cod  ; 
They  saw  not  the  Shadow  that  walked  beside, 

They  heard  not  the  feet  with  silence  shod. 
But  thicker  and  thicker  a  hot  mist  grew, 
Shot  by  the  lightnings  through  and  through  ; 
And  muffled  growls,  like  the  growl  of  a  beast, 
Ran  along  the  skv  from  west  to  east. 


The  skipper  hauled  at  the  heavy  sail  : 
"  God  be  our  help  !  "  he  only  cried. 
As  the  roaring  gale,  like  the  stroke  of  a  flail. 

Smote  the  boat  on  its  starboard  side. 
The  Shoalsmen  looked,  but  saw  alone 
Dark  films  of  rain-cloud  slantwise  blown, 
Wild  rocks  lit  up  by  the  lightning's  glare, 
The  strife  and  torment  of  sea  and  air. 

Goody  Cole  looked  out  from  her  door  : 

The  Isles  of  Shoals  were  drowned  and  gone, 

Scarcely  she  saw  the  Head  of  the  Boar 
Toss  the  foam  from  tusks  of  stone. 


PORTSMOUTH   LEGENDS.  331 

She  clasped  her  hands  with  a  grip  of  pain, 
The  tear  on  her  cheek  was  not  of  rain  ; 
"  They  are  lost,"  she  muttered,  "  boat  and  crew! 
Lord,  forgive  me  !  my  words  were  true  !  " 

Suddenly  seaward  swept  the  squall  ; 

The  low  sun  smote  through  cloudy  rack  ; 
The  Shoals  stood  clear  in  the  light,  and  all 

The  trend  of  the  coast  lay  hard  and  black. 
But  far  and  wide  as  eye  could  reach, 
No  life  was  seen  upon  wave  or  Leach  ; 
The  boat  that  went  out  at  morning  never 
Sailed  back  again  into  Hampton  Eiver. 


PORTSMOUTH    LEGENDS. 

rr^HE  early  voyagers  soon  discovered  tlie  Piscataqua  Eiver, 
I  and  tliey  quickly  perceived  its  advantages  as  a  harbor. 
There  was  Agamenticus  for  a  landmark,  and  there  was  a  swift- 
flowing  tide,  which  the  natives  told  them  was  never  frozen. 
There  were  spacious  basins,  deep  and  sheltered,  in  which  a  navy 
might  ride  securely  ;  and  there  were  also  high  and  gently  slop- 
ing banks,  over  which  the  swaying  pines  looked  down  upon  their 
own  dark  shadows  in  the  eddying  stream  below.  The  river  was 
found  to  conduct  into  a  fertile  and  heavily-timbered  region,  of 
which  it  was  the  natural  outlet.  The  shores  were  seen  to  afford 
admirable  sites  for  the  settlement  that  one  and  the  other  were 
destined  to  support. 

This  was  accordingly  begun  in  1623,  under  the  direction  and 
by  the  authority  of  Gorges  and  Mason,  in  whom  the  successful 
experiment  of  the  Plymouth  Pilgrims  had  inspired  new  hopes  of 
turning  their  royal  grants  to  account. 

I^he  promoters  of  the  settlement  were  Churchmen,  who  had 
little  sympathy  with  Puritan  ideas,  and  none  at  all   with   its 


332  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

scheme  of  government ;  and  as  some  of  those  who  had  found 
the  rule  of  these  ideas  too  hard  for  their  stomachs  had  removed 
into  New  Hampshire,  a  prejudice  grew  up  between  the  two  com- 
munities, which  for  the  rest,  afford  to  the  student  of  history  an 
example  of  two  diverse  systems  growing  up  side  by  side. 
AVheelwright  and  his  friends  were  of  the  latter  class.  Time, 
mutual  interest,  and  the  rapid  ascendency  obtained  by  the  sister 
colony,  with  other  considerations,  finally  closed  the  breach. 

The  system  of  Gorges  and  Mason,  to  establish  a  colonj'  of  ten- 
ants having  only  leaseholds  subject  to  quit-rents,  which  tliey 
should  govern  by  their  agents,  worked  only  eventual  evil  to 
themselves.  It  was  an  attempt  to  graft  the  landed  system  of 
Old  upon  Xew  Eugland  by  the  side  of  the  freehold  plan  of  the 
thrifty  and  sagacious  Massachusetts  patentees ;  and  it  was  a  dis- 
astrous failure.  Finding  that  they  were  growing  poor,  while  the 
Puritan  freeholders  were  growing  rich,  the  people  threw  oil'  their 
yoke,  and  sought  a  union  with  Massachusetts. 

Still,  the  old  leaven  of  prejudice  survived  in  the  descendants 
of  the  original  inhabitants,  Avho  loved  royaltj^  and  its  forms, 
adhered  to  the  Mother-Church  and  its  traditions,  and  felt  no 
sympathy  whatever  for  the  austere  manners,  the  rigid  economy, 
or  the  quasi-ecclesiastical  government  of  their  more  powerful 
neighbors.  These  people  gave  tone  to  the  principal  settlement ; 
and  since  there  was  no  aristocracy  of  blood,  one  of  wealth  rose 
and  flourished  in  its  stead. 

As  the  capital,  the  chief  town,  and  the  only  seaport  of  the 
province,  Portsmouth  long  enjoyed  a  peculiar  distinction.  It 
remained  the  political  centre  until  the  seat  of  government  was 
transferred,  early  in  the  present  century,  to  the  interior  of  the 
State.  Inevitable  changes  turned  commerce  into  other  channels. 
Its  commercial  importance  Avaned,  progress  was  arrested,  and  the 
place  came  to  a  standstill ;  and  it  is  to-day  more  remarkable  for 
what  it  has  been  than  for  what  it  is. 

Therefore  Portsmouth  has  the  stamp  of  a  coin  of  fifty  years 
ago.  It  is  of  the  true  weight  and  ring,  but  the  date  and  the 
legend  are  old.     The  best  houses  are  still  the  oldest ;  and  those 


THE    STONE-THROWING    DEVIL.  333 

of  the  Wentworths,  the  Langdons,  and  the  Sherburiies,  rival 
the  traditional  splendors  of  the  Colonial  mansions  of  the  Puritan 
capital  in  spaciousness,  richness  of  decoration,  and  that  rare 
combination  of  simplicity  and  elegance  which  lifted  the  Colonial 
magnate  above  the  heads  of  his  own  generation,  and  has  made 
his  housekeeping  the  admiration  of  ours.  It  is  among  these  old 
houses  that  we  must  look  for  our  legendar}^  lore. 

The  West  of  England  seaports  are  known  to  have  furnished 
a  great  proportion  of  the  original  settlers  in  New  England ;  and 
certainly  no  class  were  more  susceptible  to  the  influence  of 
superstition  than  these  sea-faring  or  sea-subsisting  people.  Upon 
the  folk-lore  of  home  was  now  grafted  that  of  the  Indian ;  whilst 
over  this  again  hovered  the  mystery  of  an  unexplored  country, 
—  in  itself  a  keen  spur  to  the  appetite  that  grows  with  what 
it  feeds  upon.  The  region  round  about  Portsmouth,  Newcastle, 
Kittery,  York,  and  the  Isles  of  Shoals,  is  therefore  prolific  in 
legends  of  a  homely  and  primitive  kind  ;  one  of  which  we  are 
about  to  relate. 


THE   STONE-THROWING   DEVIL. 

~|  TNDER  the  title  of  "  Lithobolia,"  the  story  of  the  Stone- 
^^  Throwing  Devil  was  printed  in  London  in  the  year  1698. 
It  purports  to  be  the  narrative  of  an  eye-witness,  and  is  signed 
with  the  initials  "  E.  C."  This  tract,  consisting  of'  a  few  leaves 
only,  is  now  extremely  rare;  but  a  synopsis  of  its  contents 
may  be  foiind  in  the  "  Wonderful  Providences "  of  Increase 
Mather. 

George  Walton  was  an  inhabitant  of  Portsmouth  in  the  year 
1682.  He  had  incurred  the  bitter  enmity  of  an  old  woman  of 
the  neighborhood  by  taking  from  her  a  strip  of  land  to  which 
she  laid  claim ;  and  it  is  the  opinion  of  the  writers  whom  we 
have  quoted  that  she,  being  a  witch,  was  at  the  bottom  of  all 
the  mischief  that  subsequently  drove  Walton's  family  to  the 


334  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

brink  of  despair.  This  beldam  had  in  fact  told  "Walton  that 
he  should  never  peacefully  enjoy  the  land  he  had  wrested  from 
her. 

One  still  Sabbath  night  in  June  all  at  once  a  shoAver  of  stones 
rattled  against  the  sides  and  roof  of  Walton's  house.  It  came 
as  fiercely  and  as  unexpectedly  as  a  summer  hailstorm.  As 
soon  as  it  had  ceased,  the  startled  inmates,  who  were  in  bed, 
hurried  on  their  clothes  and  sallied  out  to  see  if  they  could 
discover  the  perpetrators  of  this  outrage  upon  the  peace  and  quiet 
of  the  family.  It  was  ten  o'clock,  and  a  bright  moonlight 
night.  They  found  the  gate  taken  otf  the  hinges  and  carried 
to  a  distance  from  the  house,  but  could  neither  see  nor  hear 
anything  of  the  stone-throwers. 

"While  thus  engaged,  a  second  volley  of  stones  whistled  about 
their  heads,  Avhich  drove  them,  much  terrified  by  its  sudden- 
ness and  fury,  back  to  the  shelter  of  the  house.  They,  first 
went  into  the  porch ;  but  the  stones  reaching  them  here,  they 
were  quickly  pelted  out  of  this  into  an  inner  chamber,  Avhere, 
having  bolted  and  barred  all  the  doors,  they  awaited  in  no  calm 
frame  of  mind  the  next  demonstration  of  their  assailants.  Some 
had  been  struck  and  hurt,  and  all  were  in  consternation.  But 
to  the  dismay  of  these  poor  people,  this  proved  no  secure  refuge ; 
for  the  stone  battery  opened  again  presently,  filling  the  room 
itself  with  flying  missiles,  which  crashed  through  the  casements, 
scattering  the  glass  in  every  direction,  came  down  the  chimney, 
bounding  and  rebounding  along  the  floor  like  spent  cannon- 
balls,  while  the  inmates  looke'd  on  in  helpless  amazement  at 
what  threatened  to  demolish  the  house  over  their  heads.  This 
bombardment  continued,  with  occasional  intermission,  for  four 
hours. 

While  it  was  going  on,  Walton  was  walking  the  floor  of  liis 
chamber  in  great  disorder  of  mind,  when  a  sledge-hammer  cast 
with  vindictive  force  thumped  heavily  along  the  floor  overhead, 
and,  narrowly  missing  him,  fell  at  his  feet,  making  a  great  dent 
in  the  oaken  floor;  at  the  same  time  the  caudles  were  swept  off 
the  table,  leaving  him  in  total  darkness. 


THE    STONE-THROWING   DEVIL.  335 

All  this,  it  is  true,  might  have  been  the  work  of  evil-minded 
persons ;  but  certain  things  hardly  consistent  with  this  theory 
convinced  the  family  beyond  any  reasonable  doubt  that  the 
stones  Avhich  bruised  and  terrified  them  were  hurled  by  demon 
hands.  In  the  first  place,  some  of  the  stones  which  Avere  picked 
up  were  found  to  be  hot,  as  if  they  had  just  been  taken  out  of 
the  fire.  In  the  second,  notwithstanding  several  of  them  were 
marked,  counted,  and  laid  upon  a  table,  these  same  stones 
would  afterward  be  found  flying  around  the  room  again  as  soon 
as  the  person's  back  was  turned  who  had  put  them  there.  In 
the  third,  upon  examination,  the  leaden  cross-bars  of  the  case- 
ments were  found  to  be  bent  outwardly,  and  not  inwardly, 
showing  conclusively  that  the  stones  came  from  within,  and  not 
from  without.  Finally,  to  settle  the  matter,  some  of  the  maidens 
belonging  to  the  household  were  frightened  out  of  their  wits 
upon  seeing  a  hand  thrust  out  of  a  window,  or  the  apparition  of 
a  hand,  —  there  being,  to  their  certain  knowledge,  no  one  in  the 
room  where  it  came  from. 

This  was  not  all.  After  Walton  had  gone  to  bed,  though 
not  to  sleep,  a  heavy  stone  came  crashing  through  his  chamber- 
door.  He  got  up,  secured  the  unwelcome  intruder,  and  locked 
it  in  his  own  chamber ;  but  it  was  taken  out  by  invisible  hands, 
and  carried  with  a  great  noise  into  the  next  room.  This  was 
followed  by  a  brickbat.  The  spit  flew  up  the  chimney,  and 
came  down  again,  without  any  visible  agency.  This  carnival 
continued  from  day  to  day  with  an  occasional  respite.  Wher- 
ever the  master  of  the  house  showed  himself,  in  the  barn,  the 
field,  or  elsewhere,  by  day  or  by  night,  he  was  sure  to  receive 
a  volley.  No  one  who  witnessed  them  doubted  for  a  moment 
that  all  these  acts  proceeded  from  the  malevolence  of  the  afore- 
said witch ;  and  an  attempt  was  accordingly  made  to  brew  a 
powerful  witch-broth  in  the  house,  to  exorcise  her.  But  for 
some  reason  or  other  its  charm  failed  to  work ;  and  so  the  spell 
remained  hanging  over  the  afflicted  family. 

Some  of  the  pranks  of  the  demon  quite  outdo  the  feats  of 
Harlequin  in  the  Christmas  pantomimes.     Walton  had  a  guest 


336  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

staying  witli  him,  who  hecame  the  faithful  recorder  of  wliat 
happened  while  the  storm  of  stones  rained  down  upon  the 
doomed  dwelling.  In  order  to  soothe  and  tranquillize  his  mind, 
he  took  up  a  musical  instrument  and  began  to  play ;  when  "  a 
good  big  stone"  rolled  in  to  join  in  the  dance,  while  the  player 
looked  on  in  amazement.  Among  other  tricks  performed  by 
the  mischievous  demon  who  had  taken  up  its  unwelcome  resi- 
dence among  the  family,  was  that  of  taking  a  cheese  from  the 
press  and  crumbling  it  over  the  floor;  then  the  iron  used  in 
the  press  was  found  driven  into  the  wall,  and  a  kettle  hung 
upon  it.  Several  cocks  of  hay  that  had  been  mowed  near  the 
house  were  adroitly  hung  upon  trees  near  by ;  while  the  mis- 
chievous goblin,  twisting  bunches  of  hay  into  wisps,  stuck  them 
up  all  about  the  house  kitchen,  —  "  cum  midtis  aliis." 

The  relater  of  all  these  unaccountable  doings  indeed  admits 
that  certain  sceptical  persons  persisted  in  believing  that  any  or 
all  of  them  might  have  been  the  work  of  human  beings ;  but  as 
every  one  credits  what  he  wishes  to  credit,  so  this  ancient  writer 
appears  to  mention  the  fact  only  with  the  view  of  exposing  its 
absurdity.  Our  own  purpose  is,  not  to  decide  between  two 
opinions,  but  to  declare  that  people  in  general  considered  George 
Walton  to  be  a  victim  of  supernatural  visitation,  or,  in  other 
words,  bewitched ;  and  to  show  that  the  temper  of  his  day  was 
such,  that  any  occurrence  out  of  the  common  was  sure  to  be 
considered  according  to  its  character,  either  as  emanating  from 
heaven  or  from  the  bottomless  pit.  There  were  no  such  things 
as  accidents  ;  everything  had  some  design. 


LADY    WENTWOKTH.-  337 


LADY     WENTWORTH. 

A  ROMANCE  OF  REAL  LIFE. 

GOVERNOR  BENNING  WENTWORTH,  a  man  of  "fam- 
ily," in  the  language  of  his  day,  the  owner  of  large  estates 
too,  and  likewise  endowed  with  a  sufficiently  exalted  idea  of  his 
own  importance,  social,  political,  and  hereditary,  had  nevertheless 
matrimonial  idiosyncrasies  wholly  at  odds  with  the  traditions 
and  the  susceptibilities  of  his  class.  We  do  not  clearly  know 
whether  he  was  really  superior  to  their  demands,  or  altogether 
indifferent  upon  the  subject ;  but  we  do  know  that  had  he  been 
other  than  he  was,  there  would  have  been  no  groundwork  for 
our  story. 

This  royal  Governor  lived  in  his  fine  mansion  at  Little  Har- 
bor, which,  out  of  deference,  probably,  to  his  Excellency's  con- 
venience, to  say  nothing  of  his  dinners,  became  also  a  sort  of 
official  residence,  where  he  received  visits  of  ceremony,  punctu- 
ally drank  the  King's  health,  and  presided  over  the  sittings  of 
his  Majesty's  Council  for  the  province.  All  this,  it  may  be 
assumed,  added  a  good  deal  to  his  sense  of  personal  dignity,  and 
not  a  little  to  his  vanity,  besides  exerting  a  certain  influence 
upon  provincial  politics,  by  establishing  a  coterie,  of  which  he 
was  the  head,  with  its  headquarters  imder  his  own  roof.  —  And 
this  roof,  by  the  way,  might  tell  a  good  many  queer  stories. 
But  we  have  no  time  to  dwell  upon  these  phases  of  the  mixed 
political  and  social  life  of  Governor  Wentworth's  day.  The  old 
fellow  liked  display.  H(3  had  his  personal  guard,  he  had  his 
stud,  and  it  was  his  ambition  to  have  the  best  wine-cellar  of 
any  of  his  Majesty's  subjects  in  the  province ;  therefore  his 
personal  surroundings  did  no  discredit  to  the  commission  with 
which  his  sovereign's  favor  had  honored  him.  His  house  con- 
tained half  a  hundred  apartments,  all  of  which  were  probably 


338  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

in  use  when  the  Honorable  Council  met,  at  the  Governor's  bid- 
ding, to  make  a  levy  of  troops  for  Louisburg,  or  upon  other 
matters  of  public  concern.  Business  being  over,  the  company 
repaired  to  the  billiard-room  or  the  card-rooms,  to  the  stables  or 
to  the  river,  for  relaxation,  —  the  uklsters  to  kill  time,  the  young- 
sters to  kill  the  ladies. 

It  was  a  pleasant  mansion,  an  abode 

Near  and  yet  hidden  from  the  great  high-road, 

Sequestered  among  trees,  a  noble  pile, 

Baronial  and  colonial  in  its  style ; 

Gables  and  dormer-windows  everywhere, 

And  stacks  of  chimneys  rising  high  in  air. 

Within,  unwonted  splendors  met  the  eye, 
Panels,  and  floors  of  oak,  and  tapestry  ; 
Carved  chimney-pieces,  where  on  brazen  dogs 
Revelled  and  roared  the  Christmas  fires  of  logs. 

But  this  brave  establishment  lacked  one  thing  to  render  it 
complete,  —  it  needed  a  mistress.  The  Governor  had  been  left 
widowed  and  childless  in  his  old  age  to  sustain  the  cares  of 
office  and  the  management  of  his  extensive  household  alone. 
He  determined  to  marry  again. 

The  world,  had  it  been  consulted  in  the  matter,  might  have 
imposed  upon  him  a  bride  of  mature  years  and  experience ; 
above  all,  one  taken  from  his  own  rank,  or  at  least  having  a 
pedigree.  But  the  Governor  M-as  not  yet  too  old  to  be  insen- 
sible to  the  charms  of  youth  and  beauty ;  and  he  proceeded  to 
snap  his  fat  fingers  in  the  face  of  society  by  proposing  marriage 
to  a  young  woman  of  the  town  of  Portsmouth,  who  possessed  all 
the  personal  graces  that  were  requisite  in  his  eyes  to  make  her 
Lady  Wentworth.  The  lady,  however,  saw  nothing  but  a  gouty 
old  man,  —  who  might,  it  was  true,  soon  leave  her  a  widow  ;  but 
this  was  not  the  life  that  she  looked  forward  to.  She  having 
moreover  formed  another  attachment  in  her  own  sphere  of  life, 
rejected  the  Governor,  for  whom  she  cared  not  a  button,  in 
favor  of  a  young  mechanic  whom  she  dearly  loved.     This  double 


LADY    WENTWOKTII.  339 

wound  to  his  love  and  vanity  the  old  Governor  determined 
signally  to  avenge ;  and  to  this  end  he  wickedly  caused  the 
bridegroom  to  he  kidnapped  by  a  press-gang  and  carried  off 
to  sea. 

The  Governor's  second  matrimonial  venture  was  more  fortu- 
nate. This  time  his  eyes  fell  upon  Martha  Hilton,  a  saucy,  red- 
lipped  gypsy  of  the  town,  who  is  first  introduced  to  us  while 
she  is  carrying  a  pail  of  water  —  probably  fresh-drawn  from  the 
town  pump  yonder  —  along  the  street.  Her  feet  are  bare,  her 
dress  scarcely  covers  her  decently ;  yet  for  all  that  she  belongs 
to  one  of  the  oldest  families  in  the  province.  But  she  is  charm- 
ing, even  in  these  mean  habiliments. 

It  was  a  pretty  picture,  lull  of  grace,  — 
The  slender  form,  the  delicate,  thin  face  ; 
The  swaying  motion,  as  she  hurried  by  ; 
The  shining  feet,  the  laughter  in  her  eye. 

The  sight  of  the  girl  in  this  plight  so  incenses  the  sharp- 
tongued  landlady  of  the  Earl  of  Halifax  inn,  that  she  exclaims 
from  her  doorway,  "You  Pat !  you  Pat !  how  dare  you  go  look- 
ing so ']    You  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  be  seen  in  the  street !  " 

The  warm  blood  comes  into  the  maiden's  cheeks  at  this  sharp 
reproof.  She  gives  her  head  a  toss,  and  haughtily  says  :  "  No 
matter  how  I  look,  I  shall  ride  in  my  chariot  yet,  ma'am ! "  and 
passes  on,  leaving  Mistress  Stavers  nailed  to  her  doorstep  at 
such  unheard-of  presumption  in  a  half-dressed  slip  of  a  girl, 
who  is  carrying  water  through  the  public  street.  Ride  in  her 
chariot,  indeed  ! 

Like  Cinderella,  Martha  Hilton  next  makes  her  appearance  in 
the  kitchen  of  the  Governor's  mansion  at  Little  Harbor.  But 
she  is  not  to  stay  here.  One  day  the  Governor  gives  a  splendid 
banquet.     The  company  is  assembled,  — 

He  had  invited  all  his  friends  and  peers,  — 
The  Pepperels,  the  Langdons,  and  the  Lears, 
The  Sparhawks,  the  Pen  hallows,  and  the  rest  ; 
For  why  repeat  the  name  of  every  guest  1 


*'  I    SnALI.    RIDK    IN    MY    (  IIAKIOT    YET,    Ma'aM. 


LADY    WENTWORTH.  341 

and  among  the  red  coats  of  the  quality  is  the  black  one  of  the 
Reverend  Arthur  Brown,  rector  of  the  Episcopal  church,  — 
With  smiling  face 
He  sat  beside  the  Governor  and  said  grace. 

The  dinner  is  served;  the  wine  circulates  freely  round  the 
board ;  and  the  guests,  having  dined  well,  have  reached  the  mo- 
ment of  supreme  content  following,  when  the  Governor  whis- 
pers something  to  a  servant,  who  bows  and  goes  out.  Presently 
there  is  a  little  bustle  at  the  door,  and  then  Martha  Hilton, 
blushing  like  tire,  wallis  into  the  room  and  takes  her  stand  in 
front  of  the  fireplace. 

Can  this  be  Martha  Hilton  1     It  must  be  ! 

Yes,  Martha  Hilton,  and  no  other  she ! 

Dowered  with  the  beauty  of  her  twenty  years, 

How  ladylike,  how  queenlike,  she  appears ! 

She  is  now  richly  dressed  ;  and  would  hardly  be  recognized  as  the 
same  person  whom  we  saw  in  the  street  not  long  ago.  Conversa- 
tion ceases  ;  all  the  guests  look  up  to  admire  the  beautiful  woman. 

The  Governor  rises  from  his  chair,  goes  over  to  Avhere  Martha 
is  struggling  to  maintain  her  self-possession,  and  then,  address- 
ing himself  to  the  clergyman,  while  all  the  guests  stare,  he  says  : 
"  Mr.  Brown,  I  wish  you  to  marry  me." 

"  To  whom  1  "  asks  the  bewildered  rector. 

"  To  this  lady,"  replies  the  Governor,  taking  Martha's  hand  in 

his. 

As  the  dumfounded  rector  remained  speechless,  the  irascible 

old  Governor  became  imperative. 

"Sir,"  he  said,  "as  the  Governor  of  his  Majesty's  province  of 
New  Hampshire,  I  command  you  to  marry  me." 

The  ceremony  was  then  performed  ;  the  maiden  of  twenty 
became  the  bride  of  the  gouty  old  man  of  sixty ;  and  thus  her 
saucy  answer  came  true. 

Mr.  Longfellow's  poem,  founded  upon  this  romance  of  real 
life,  is  also 

A  pretty  picture,  full  of  grace,  — 


342 


NEW-ENGLAXD   LEGENDS. 


in  which  the  social  distinctions  of  Governor  Wentworth's  day- 
are  emphasized,  in  order  to  show  how  easily  Love  laughs  at  them 
and  at  all  those  safeguards  behind  which  society  intrenches  itself 
against  a  misalliance.  But  here  a  maiden  of  twenty  marries  a 
man  old  enough  to  be  her  grandfather.  Is  it  for  lovel  He 
marries  his  lovely  dependant  because  he  is  lonesome. 


^art  l^intl). 


YORK.    ISLES-OF-SHOALS,    AND    BOON- 
ISLAND   LEGENDS. 


ISLES-OF-SHOALS  LEGENDS. 

THEEE  leagues  oti'  the  coast  of  New  Hampshire,  huddled 
together  in  a  group,  the  Isles  of  Shoals  rise  out  of  the 
gray  line  of  old  ocean  like  mountain  peaks  above  a  cloud; 
and,  as  if  disinherited  by  Nature,  nothing  grows  upon  them 
except  a  little  grass,  a  few  hardy  shrubs,  and  the  yellow  lichens 
that  spot  the  gaunt  rocks  like  the  scales  of  a  leper.  One  soli- 
tary lightliouse  lifts  its  warning  finger  upon  the  outermost  rock, 
but,  like  a  monument  to  the  many  wrecks  that  have  happened 
there,  this  only  signals  a  rock  of  danger,  and  not  a  haven  of 
safety  for  distressed  mariners. 

Treeless,  unblessed  by  the  evidences  of  cultivation  or  thrift, 
with  no  other  sound  than  that  of  the  sea  breaking  heavily 
against  them,  and  no  other  sign  of  life  than  the  surf  whitening 
their  sides  of  granite  and  flint,  a  more  lonely  scene  can  hardly 
be  imagined.  Upon  landing  and  looking  about  him  in  silent 
wonder'',  one  is  more  and  more  impressed  with  the  idea  that 
the  sea  has  bared  these  imperishable  rocks  by  its  subsidence, 
and  that  he  is  standing  on  the  summit  of  a  submerged  moun- 
tain, emerging  from  the  ocean  like  one  risen  from  the  dead. 

A  heap  of  bare  and  splintery  crags 
Tumbled  about  by  lightning  and  frost, 

With  rifts  and  chasms  and  storm-beat  jags 
That  wait  and  growl  for  a  ship  to  be  lost  ; 

No  island,  but  rather  the  skeleton 

Of  a  wrecked  and  vengeance-smitten  one. 


346  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

Away  northeast  is  Boon-Island  Light  ; 

You  might  mistake  it  for  a  ship, 
Only  it  stands  too  plumb  upright, 

And,  like  the  others,  does  not  slip 
Behind  the  sea's  unsteady  brink. 

On  the  mainland  you  see  a  misty  camp 
Of  mountains  pitched  tumultuously  : 

That  one  looming  so  long  and  large 
Is  Saddleback  ;    and  that  point  you  see 

Over  yon  low  and  rounded  marge. 

Like  the  boss  of  a  sleeping  giant's  targe 
Laid  over  his  heart,  is  Ossipee  : 

That  shadow  there  may  be  Kearsarge. 

There  can  be  little  room  for  doubt  that  these  islands  were, 
from  a  very  early  time,  the  resort  of  occasional  fishing  ships,  as 
they  subsequently  became  the  haunt  of  smugglers  and  outlaws, 
—  I  mean  pirates.  The  cluster  enclosed  a  tolerable  harbor,  were 
uninhabited,  were  convenient  to  the  fishing-grounds,  and  they 
afforded  excellent  facilities  for  curing  fish.  In  later  times  their 
isolated  position  rendered  them  a  secure  refuge  for  the  lawless 
rovers  who  infested  our  coasts,  and  who  could  snap  their  fingers 
at  the  Colonial  authorities  while  refitting  their  ships,  disposing 
of  their  ill-gotten  booty,  or  indulging  in  their  habitual  carousals 
on  shore.  From  these  conditions  came  at  length  a  puny  settle- 
ment, equally  without  law,  morals,  or  religion.  Such  was  its 
reputation,  that  a  Colonial  order  prohibited  women  from  living 
on  any  one  of  the  islands. 

A  legend  is  of  course  associated  Avith  the  record  tleclaring 
these  islands  to  have  been  the  resort  of  freebooters.  Kidd  is 
supposed  to  have  buried  immense  treasure  here  ;  and  as  if  to  con- 
firm the  story,  the  ghost  of  one  of  his  men,  who  was  slain  for 
its  protection,  was  always  firmly  1)olif>vcd  by  the  fishermen  to 
haunt  Appledore.  At  one  time  nothing  would  have  induced 
the  inhabitant  of  another  island  to  land  upon  this  after  night- 
fall, although  there  was  much  search  made  for  the  treasure  that 
the  spectre  was  supposed  to  guard.     One  islander,  indeed,  had 


_  ISLES-OF-SHOALS    LEGENDS.  347 

really  encountered  the  grisly  shade  while  making  its  solitary 
round,  and  he  described  it  as  shedding  a  dimly  luminous  and 
unearthly  appearance,*  like  that  of  a  glow-worm,  as  it  walked, 
and  as  having  a  face  pale  and  very  dreadful  to  look  upon. 

For  a  time,  while  the  fishery  flourished,  the  islands  enjoyed  a 
kind  of  prosperity  ;  but  those  clergymen  who,  like  the  Reverend 
John  Tucke,  went  into  a  voluntary  exile  here,  to  become  fishers 
of  men,  might  truly  be  said  to  have  cast  their  lines  in  stony 
places.  Yet  with  unabated  zeal  the  good  Father  Tucke  perse- 
vered in  the  effort  to  reform  the  morals  of  his  charge,  to  watch 
over  their  spiritual  welfare,  and  to  bring  them  into  something 
like  accord  with  the  idea  of  a  civilized  community,  until  they 
carried  him  from  the  little  church  on  the  ledge  down  into  the 
hollow,  and  there  laid  him  away  to  his  rest. 

Sometimes  the  minister  would  see  his  entire  congregation  rusli 
out  of  the  meeting-house  in  the  middle  of  the  sermon  because, 
it  being  a  good  lookout,  some  of  the  men  liad  caught  sight  of  a 
school  of  mackerel  in  the  offing.  Sometimes,  when  to  make  his 
image  more  impressively  real  he  used  sea  terms  to  describe  the 
condition  of  the  unregenerate  sinners  before  him,  and  put  the 
question  bluntly,  "  What,  my  friends,  wuuld  you  do  in  such  a 
case  1 "  some  rough  sea-dog  would  retort,  "  Square  away  and  scud 
for  Squam  !  "  —  that  being  their  customary  refuge  wdien  over- 
taken at  sea  by  a  northeaster.  Both  Mather  and  Hubbard 
give  numerous  instances  of  the  "  memorable  providences  "  over- 
taking these  dissolute  and  godless  fishermen  in  the  midst  of 
their  carousals.  Let  us  now  give  one  illustrating  the  efficacy 
of  prayer. 

In  his  **  ^Magnalia  Christi  "  Mather  relates  this  incident :  —  A 
child  of  one  Arnold  lay  sick,  — so  nearly  dead  that  it  was  judged 
to  be  really  dead.  Mr.  Brock  (the  minister),  perceiving  some 
life  in  it,  goes  to  prayer ;  and  in  his  prayer  was  this  expression  : 
"  Lord,  wilt  thou  not  grant  some  sign,  before  we  leave  prayer, 
that  tliou  wilt  spare  and  heal  this  child  ]  We  cannot  leave 
thee  till  we  have  it."     The  child  sneezed  immediately. 

On  account  of  the  isolation  which  left  them  to  the  mercy  of 


348  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

the  enemy's  cruisers,  the  islands  were  nearly  depopulated  during 
the  time  of  the  Eevolution.  After  this  the  few  inhabitants  who 
remained  lived  in  a  deplorable  condition  of  ignorance  and  vice. 
Some  of  them  lost  their  ages  for  want  of  a  record.  The  town 
organization  was  abandoned,  and  the  settlement  at  Star  Island 
relapsed  into  its  old  half -barbarous  way  of  life.  Men  and  women 
lived  openly  together  without  the  form  of  marriage.  Finally  some 
of  the  more  depraved  pulled  down  and  burned  the  old  meeting- 
house, which  had  so  long  been  a  prominent  landmark  for  seamen ; 
and  the  parsonage  might  have  shared  a  similar  fate,  had  it  not, 
like  the  ark,  been  launched  and  floated  over  to  the  mainland  out 
of  harm's  way. 

But  enoYigh  of  this  rude  chronicle.  Emerging  from  the 
shadow  into  the  sun,  the  islands  became  in  time  noted  for  their 
healtlifulness ;  and  presently,  when  the  light-keeper,  who  had 
hitherto  lived  here  like  a  hermit,  took  courage  and  established 
a  boarding-house  on  Appledore,  they  drew  a  constantly  increas- 
ing number  of  visitors,  who  affirmed  the  Isles  of  Shoals  to  be 
the  most  idiosyncratic  watering-place  in  the  Union.  Since 
then  they  have  been  celebrated  in  song  and  story.  Every 
nook  and  alcove  has  been  ransacked,  to  procure  materials  for 
history,  legend,  or  romance  ;  and  finally  little  or  nothing  except 
the  ancient  tombstones,  the  little  Gosport  church,  and  some  rude 
walls,  declare  the  presence  here  of  a  different  generation,  who 
were  rocked  in  the  cradle  of  the  deep,  and  who  now  slumber 
in  its  embrace. 

OX   STAR  ISLAND. 

SARAH    O.    JEWETT. 

High  on  the  lichened  ledges,  like 

A  lonely  sea-fowl  on  its  perch 
Blown  by  the  cold  sea-wind:?,  it  stands, 

Old  Gosport's  quaint  forsaken  church. 

No  sign  is  left  of  all  the  town 
Except  a  few  forgotten  graves  ; 


ON   STAR   ISLAND.  349 

But  to  and  fro  the  white  sails  go 
Slowly  across  the  glittering  waves  ; 

And  summer  idlers  stray  about 

With  curious  questions  of  the  lost 
And  vanished  village,  and  its  men, 

Whose  boats  by  these  same  waves  were 


Their  eyes  on  week-days  sought  the  church, 
Their  surest  landmark,  and  the  guide 

That  led  them  in  from  far  at  sea, 
Until  they  anchored  safe  beside 

The  harbor  wall  that  braved  the  storm 
With  its  resistless  strength  of  stone. 

Those  busy  tishers  all  are  gone  : 
The  church  is  standing  here  alone. 

But  still  I  hear  their  voices  strange, 

And  still  I  see  the  people  go 
Over  the  ledges  to  their  homes,  — 

The  bent  old  women's  footsteps  slow ; 

The  faithful  parson  stop  to  give 
Some  timely  word  to  one  astray ; 

The  little  children  hurrying  on 
Together,  chattering  of  their  play. 

I  know  tlie  blue  sea  covered  some  ; 

And  others  in  the  rocky  ground 
Found  narrow  lodgings  for  their  bones  — 

God  grant  their  rest  is  sweet  and  sound  ! 

I  saw  the  worn  rope  idle  hang 
Beside  me  in  the  belfry  brown  ;' 

1  gave  the  bell  a  solemn  toll  — 
I  rang  the  knell  for  Gosport  town. 


350  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


A   LEGEND   OF   BLACKBEARD. 

rp^HE  various  legends  relative  to  tlie  corsairs,  and  the  secret- 
I  ing  of  their  ill-gotten  gains  among  these  rocks,  would  of 
themselves  occupy  a  long  chapter ;  and  the  recital  of  the 
fearful  sights  and  sounds  which  have  confronted  such  as  were 
hardy  enough  to  seek  for  hidden  treasure,  would  satisfy  the  most 
inveterate  xnarvelmonger  in  the  land. 

Among  others  to  whom  it  is  said  these  islands  were  known 
was  the  celebrated  Captain  Teach,  or  Blackbeard,  as  he  was  often 
called.  He  is  supposed  to  have  buried  immense  treasure  here, 
some  of  which  has  been  dug  up  antl  appropriated  by  the  is- 
landers. On  one  of  his  cruises,  while  lying  off  the  Scottish  coast 
waiting  for  a  rich  trader,  he  was  boarded  by  a  stranger,  who 
came  off  in  a  small  boat  from  the  shore.  The  new-comer 
demanded  to  be  led  before  the  pirate  chief,  in  whose  cabin  he 
remained  some  time  shut  up.  At  length  Teach  appeared  on 
deck  with  the  stranger,  whom  he  introduced  to  the  crew  as  a 
comrade.  The  vessel  they  were  expecting  soon  can:e  in  sight ; 
and  after  a  bloody  conflict  she  became  the  prize  of  Blackbeard. 
It  was  determined  by  the  corsair  to  man  and  arm  the  captured 
vessel.  The  unknown  had  fought  with  undaunted  bravery  dur- 
ing the  battle,  and  to  him  was  given  the  command  of  the  prize. 
The  stranger  Scot  was  not  long  in  gaining  the  bad  eminence 
of  being  as  good  a  pirate  as  his  renowned  commander.  His 
crew  thought  him  invincible,  and  followed  wherever  he  led. 
At  last,  after  his  appetite  for  wealth  had  been  satisfied  by  the 
rich  booty  of  the  Southern  seas,  he  arrived  on  the  coast  of  his 
native  land.  His  boat  was  manned,  and  landed  him  on  the 
beach  near  an  humble  dwelling,  whence  he  soon  returned,  bear- 
ing in  his  arms  the  lifeless  form  of  a  woman. 

The  pirate  ship  immediately  set  sail  for  America ;  and  in  due 
time  dropped  her  anchor  in  the  road  of  the  Isles   of  Shoals. 


A    LEGEND    OF    BLACKBEARU. 


351 


Here  the  crew  passed  their  time  in  secreting  their  riches  and  in 
carousal.     The   commander's  portion   was  buried  on  an  island 


CAPTAIN   TEACH,    OR  BLACKBEAKD. 

apart  from  the  rest.  He  roamed  over  the  isles  with  his  beautiful 
companion,  forgetful,  it  would  seem,  of  his  fearful  trade,  until 
one  morning  a  sail  was  discovered  standing  in  for  the  islands. 


352  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

All  was  now  activity  on  board  the  pirate;  but  before  getting 
under  way  tlie  outlaw  carried  the  njaiden  to  the  island  where  he 
had  buried  his  treasure,  and  then  made  her  take  a  fearful  oath 
to  guard  the  spot  from  mortals  until  his  return,  were  it  till 
Doomsday.     He  then  put  to  sea. 

The  strange  sail  proved  to  be  a  warlike  vessel  in  search  of  the 
freebooter.  A  long  and  desperate  battle  ensued,  in  which  the 
King's  cruiser  at  last  silenced  her  adversary's  guns.  The  vessels 
were  grappled  for  a  last  struggle,  when  a  terrific  explosion 
strewed  the  sea  with  the  fragments  of  both.  Stung  to  madness 
by  defeat,  and  knowing  that  if  taken  alive  the  gibbet  awaited 
him,  the  rover  had  fired  the  magazine,  involving  friend  and  foe 
in  a  common  fate. 

A  few  mangled  wretches  succeeded  in  reaching  the  islands, 
only  to  perish  miserably,  one  by  one,  from  cold  and  hunger. 
The  pirate's  mistress  remained  true  to  her  oath  to  the  last,  or 
until  she  also  succumbed  to  want  and  exposure.  By  report,  she 
has  been  seen  more  than  once  on  White  Island,  —  a  tall,  shapely 
figure,  wrapped  in  a  long  sea-cloak,  her  head  and  neck  uncovered 
except  by  a  profusion  of  golden  hair.  Her  face  is  described  as 
exquisitely  rounded,  but  pale  and  still  as  marble.  She  takes  her 
stand  on  the  verge  of  a  low  projecting  point,  gazing  fixedly  out 
upon  the  ocean  in  an  attitude  of  intense  expectation.  A  former 
race  of  fishermen  avouched  that  her  ghost  was  doomed  to  haunt 
those  rocks  until  the  last  trump  shall  sound,  and  tliat  the  ancient 
graves  to  be  found  on  the  islands  were  tenanted  by  Blackboard's 
men. 


THE    SPANISH    WRECK. 

Wo  betide  any  ship  that  was  driven  among  these  islands 
before  the  lighthouse  warned  the  mariner  how  to  steer 
clear  of  them  !  Engulfed  in  pitch  darkness,  the  doomed  vessel 
bore  steadily  down  upon  an  unseen  danger,  whose  first  warning 


THE    SPANISH   WEECK.  353 

was  the  shock  that  snapped  her  masts  asunder  like  dry  twigs,  and 
that  crushed  in  her  stout  timbers  like  egg-shells.  The  waves 
and  the  rocks  then  tinished  their  work  of  destruction.  Such  a 
scene  of  horror,  with  its  dismal  sequel  of  suffering  and  death, 
enacting  while  the  islanders  lay  fast  asleep  in  their  beds,  is  tliat 
of  the  unknown  Spanish  wreck. 

This  wreck  took  place  on  Smutty-Nose  Island  in  January, 
1813,  according  to  the  Gosport  records,  which  give  the  ill-fated 
vessel's  name  as  the  "  Sagunto."  Fourteen  rude  graves  count 
the  number  of  bodies  that  were  recovered,  and  buried  in  a  little 
plot  together.  "  There  is  no  inscription  on  the  rude  bowlders 
at  the  head  and  foot  of  these  graves.  A  few  more  years,  and  all 
trace  of  them  will  be  obliterated." 

Although  the  ship  "  Sagunto  "  was  not  stranded  here,  as  the 
record  incorrectly  states,  the  wreck  of  a  large  vessel  either  Spanish 
or  Portuguese,  with  every  soul  on  board,  remains  a  terrible  fact, 
only  too  well  attested  by  these  graves.  The  "  Sagunto,"  it  is 
known,  after  a  stormy  voyage,  made  her  port  in  safety.  But  the 
horror  of  the  event  is  deepened  by  that  word  "  unknown."  The 
name  of  the  ship,  who  were  her  captain  and  crew,  are  all  swal- 
lowed up  at  the  same  instant  of  time. 

It  was  in  the  height  of  a  blinding  snow-storm  and  a  gale  that 
strewed  the  coast  from  Hatteras  to  the  Penobscot  with  Avrecks, 
that  a  ship  built  of  cedar  and  mahogany  was  thrown  upon  these 
rocks.  Not  a  Hving  soul  was  left  to  tell  the  tale  of  that  bitter 
January  night.  The  ill-fated  craft  Avas  richly  laden,  for  boxes 
of  raisins  and  almonds  from  Malaga  drifted  on  shore  the  next 
morning.  No  clew  to  the  ship  or  crew  was  found,  except  a 
silver  watch,  with  the  letters  "  P.  S."  engraved  upon  the  seals, 
and  some  letters  which  came  on  shore  with  the  wreckage.  The 
watch  had  stopped  at  exactly  four  o'clock,  while  those  on  the 
island  ticked  on. 

One  account  says  that  part  of  the  crew  were  thrown  upon  the 

rocks  more  dead  than  alive,  ^nd  that,  seeing  a  light  shining 

through  the  storm,  some  of  them  crawled  toward  it ;   but  they 

were  too  far  spent  to  reacli   the  kindly  shelter  it  announced. 

23 


354  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

"  The  roaring  of  the  storm  bore  away  their  faint  cries  of  distress ; 
the  old  man  slept  on  quietly,  with  his  family  about  him,  —  shel- 
tered, safe,  —  while,  a  stone's  throw  from  his  door,  these  sailors 
strove  to  reach  that  friendly  light.  Two  of  them  gained  the 
stone  wall  in  front  of  the  house ;  but  their  ebbing  strength  would 
not  allow  them  to  climb  over."  Tlieir  stiifened  bodies,  half 
buried  in  the  falling  snow,  were  found  hanging  over  it  in  the 
morning. 

This  is  the  story  of  this  little  clump  of  graves,  and  of  the 
wreck  that  is  to  this  day  unknown.  Mrs.  Celia  Thaxter  tells 
it  in  verse  with  much  feeling ;  for  to  her  such  scenes  are  not 
unfamiliar,  nor  are  the  dangers  of  these  inhospitable  isles  things 
of  the  imagination. 


THE  SPANIARDS'  GEAVES  AT  THE   ISLES  OF  SHOALS. 


CELIA    THAXTER. 

0  SAILORS,  did  sweet  eyes  look  after  you, 

The  day  you  sailed  away  from  sunny  Spain  ? 
Bright  eyes  that  followed  fading  ship  and  crew, 
Meltino-  in  tender  rain? 


Did  no  one  dream  of  that  drear  night  to  be. 

Wild  with  the  wind,  fierce  with  the  stinging  snow, 
When,  on  yon  granite  point  that  frets  the  sea, 
The  ship  met  her  death-blow  ? 

Fifty  long  years  ago  these  sailors  died  : 

None  know  how  many  sleep  beneath  the  waves  ; 
Fourteen  gray  headstones,  rising  side  by  side, 
Point  out  their  nameless  graves,  — 

Lonely,  unknown,  deserted,  but  for  me 

And  the  wild  birds  that  flit  with  mournful  cry, 
And  sadder  winds,  and  voices  of  the  sea 
That  inouns  perpetually. 


BOON    ISLAND.  355 

O  Spanish  women,  over  the  far  seas, 

Could  I  but  show  you  where  your  dead  repose ! 
Could  I  send  tidings  on  this  northern  breeze, 
That  strong  and  steady  blows  ! 

Dear  dark-eyed  sisters,  you  remember  yet 

These  you  have  lost ;  but  you  can  never  know 
One  stands  at  their  bleak  graves  whose  eyes  are  wet 
With  thinking  of  your  wo  I 


BOON     ISLAND. 

EVEN  the  Isles  of  Shoals  have  their  outlying  picket.  The 
solitary  gray  shaft  of  Boon-Island  Lighthouse,  shooting 
high  up  out  of  the  sea,  is  by  day  a  conspicuous  object  anywhere 
between  York  Eiver  and  Cape  Neddock ;  and  by  night  its  light 
is  a  star  shining  brightly  amid  the  waste  of  waters.  This  island, 
with  its  outlying  ledges,  long  had  the  worst  reputation  among 
sailors  of  any  that  endanger  the  navigation  of  our  eastern  coasts,  — 
nntil  the  erection  of  a  lighthouse  here  in  1811,  upon  the  larger 
rock,  robbed  the  place  of  some  of  its  terrors.  Its  name  goes 
back  as  far  as  1630,  thus  disposing  of  the  local  traditions  asso- 
ciating it  with  the  wreck  of  the  "  Nottingham  Galley,"  which 
occurred  nearly  a  century  later. 

As  the  seas  in  great  storms  break  completely  over  it,  driving 
the  inmates  to  the  upper  story  of  the  shaft,  one  is  lost  in  won- 
der to  think  that  this  barren  rock,  scarcely  elevated  above  the 
waves,  was  for  nearly  a  month,  and  in  the  heart  of  winter,  the 
melancholy  refuge  of  a  shipwrecked  crew,  whose  strength  daily 
wasted  away  while  they  were  in  full  sight  of  the  friendly  shore 
they  could  not  reach. 

The  following  is  all  that  can  be  learned  concerning  the  inci- 
dent commemorated  in  Mrs.  Thaxter's  verses :  "  Long  ago,  when 
lighthouses  were  not  so  well  manned  as  now,  '  two  lovers,  lately 


356  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

wed,'  went  out  to  keep  the  light  on  this  perilous  reef.  In  a 
great  storm  in  the  beginning  of  Avinter  the  husband  suddenly 
died  ;  and  the  bereaved  wife  kept  the  light  burning  three  nights, 
till  the  storm  lulled,  and  then  left  it  unkindled  as  a  signal  of 
distress.  There  was  no  human  creature  on  the  rock  exce[)t 
themselves." 

THE  WATCH   OF  BOOK   ISLAND. 

CELIA    THAXTER. 

They  crossed  the  lonely  and  lamenting  sea ; 

Its  moaning  seemed  but  singing.     "  Wilt  thou  dare," 
He  asked  her,  "  brave  the  loneliness  with  me?" 

"  What  loneliness,"  she  said,  "  if  thou  art  there  ] " 

Afar  and  cold  on  the  horizon's  rim 

Loomed  the  tall  lighthouse,  like  a  ghostly  sign  ; 

They  sighed  not  as  the  shore  behind  grew  dim,  — 
A  rose  of  joy  they  bore  across  the  brine. 

They  gained  the  barren  rock,  and  made  their  home 
Among  the  wild  waves  and  the  sea-birds  wild. 

The  wintry  winds  blew  fierce  across  the  foam  ; 
But  in  each  other's  eyes  they  looked  and  smiled. 

Aloft  the  lighthouse  sent  its  warnings  wide, 
Fed  by  their  faithful  hands  ;   and  ships  in  sight 

With  joy  beheld  it ;  and  on  land  men  cried, 

"  Look,  clear  and  steady  burns  Boon  Island  Light ! " 

Death  found  them  ;  turned  his  face  and  passed  her  by, 

But  laid  a  finger  on  her  lover's  lips  ; 
And  there  was  silence.     Then  the  storm  ran  high, 

And  tossed  and  troubled  sore  the  distant  ships. 

Nay,  who  shall  s])eak  the  terrors  of  the  night. 
The  speechless  sorrow,  the  supreme  despair  ? 

Still  like  a  ghost  she  trimmed  the  waning  light, 
Dragging  her  slow  weight  up  the  winding  stair. 


THE    GRAVE    OF    CHAMPERNOWNE.  S'B? 

Three  times  the  night,  too  terrible  to  bear, 
Descended,  shrouded  in  the  storm.     At  last 

The  sun  rose  clear  and  still  on  her  despair, 
And  all  her  striving  to  the  winds  she  cast. 

And  bowed  her  head,  and  let  the  light  die  out. 
For  the  wide  sea  lay  calm  as  her  dead  love. 

When  evening  fell,  from  the  far  land,  in  doubt, 
Vainly  to  find  that  faithful  star  men  strove. 

Out  from  the  coast  toward  her  high  tower  they  sailed ; 

They  found  her  watching,  silent,  by  her  dead,  — 
A  shadowy  woman,  who  nor  wept  nor  wailed, 

But  answered  what  they  spake,  till  all  was  said. 


THE    GRAVE    OF   CHAMPERNOWNE. 

ON  Gerrish's  Island,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Piscataqua  River, 
there  is  a  rude  heap  of  stones  marking,  according  to  tra- 
dition, the  last  resting-place  of  Francis  Champernowne,  a  former 
owner  and  resident  of  this  island.  Tradition  further  says  he 
forbid  that  any  monument  should  be  raised  to  his  memory, 
although  he  was  of  gentle  blood,  a  nephew  of  the  famous  Sir 
Ferdinando  Gorges,  and  a  man  of  much  personal  worth  and  dis- 
tinction. (See  "  Nooks  and  Corners  of  the  New  England  Coast," 
p.  149,  and  notes.) 

Thomas  de  Cambernon  for  Hastings'  field 
Left  Normandy  ;  his  tower  saw  him  no  more  ! 

And  no  crusader's  warhorse,  plumed  and  steeled. 
Paws  the  grass  now  at  Modbury's  blazoned  door  ; 

No  lettered  marble  nor  ancestral  shield,  — 
Where  all  the  Atlantic  shakes  the  lonesome  shore. 

Lies  ours  forgotten  :  only  cobble-stones 

To  tell  us  where  are  Champernowne's  poor  bones. 

John  Elwyn. 


358  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

YORK,   MAINE. 
A  G  A  M  E  N  T  I C  U  S. 

ANONYMOUS. 

*  Where  rises  grand,  majestic,  tall, 

As  in  a  dream,  the  towering  wall 

That  scorns  the  restless,  surging  tide, 
Once  spanned  the  mart  and  street  and  inaU, 
And  arched  the  trees  on  every  side 
Of  this  great  city,  once  in  pride. 
For  hither  came  a  knightly  train 

From  o'er  the  sea  with  gorgeous  court  ; 
The  mayors,  gowned  in  robes  of  state, 
Held  brilliant  tourney  on  the  plain, 
And  massive  ships  within  the  port 

Discharged  their  load  of  richest  freight. 
Then  when  at  night,  the  sun  gone  down 

Behind  the  western  hill  and  tree. 
The  bowls  were  filled,  — this  toast  they  crown, 
"  Long  live  the  City  by  the  Sea  !  " 

Now  sailless  drift  the  lonely  seas. 
No  shallops  load  at  wharves  or  quays. 

But  hull<s  are  strewn  along  the  shore,— 
Gaunt  skeletons  indeed  are  these 
That  lie  enchanted  l^y  the  roar 
Of  ocean  wave  and  sighing  trees! 
Oh,  tell  me  where  the  pompous  squires. 
The  cliant  at  eve,  the  matin  prayers, 
The  knights  in  armor  for  the  fray  ? 
The  mayors,  where,  and  courtly  sires. 
The  eager  traders  with  their  wares,  — 
How  went  these  people  hence  away  1 
And  when  the  evening  sun  sinks  down, 
Weird  voices  come  from  hill  and  tree, 
Yet  tell  no  tales,  —  this  toast  they  crown, 
"  Long  live  the  Spectre  by  the  Sea  I " 


SAINT   ASPENQUID   OF   AGAilENTICUS.  359 


SAINT  ASPENQUID   OF  AGAMENTICUS. 


M' 


-OITNT  Agameiiticus,  the  locality  of  the  following  legend, 
^,_  is  the  Commanding  landmark  for  sixty  miles  up  and 
down  the  neighboring  coast.  The  name  has  the  true  martial 
rina  in  it  This  mountain  rears  its  giant  back  on  the  border  of 
Maine,  almost  at  the  edge  of  the  sea,  into  which,  indeed,  it  seems 
advancing.  Its  form  is  at  once  graceful,  robust,  and  imposing. 
Nature  posted  it  here.  It  gives  a  character  to  the  whole  region 
that  surrounds  it,  over  which  it  stands  guard.  Nature  endowed 
it  with  a  purpose.  It  meets  the  mariner's  eye  far  out  to  sea, 
and  tells  him  how  to  steer  safely  into  his  destined  port. 

In  his  "Pictures  from  Appledore,"  the  poet  Lowell  makes  this 
reference  to  the  sailor's  mountain  :  — 

He  glowers,  there  to  the  north  of  us 
Wrapt  in  his  mantle  of  blue  haze, 
Unconvertibly  savage,  and  scorns  to  take 
The  white  man's  baptism  on  his  ways. 
Him  first  on  shore  the  coaster  divines 
Through  the  early  gray,  and  sees  him  shake 
The  morning  mist  from  his  scalp-lock  of  pines  : 
Him  first  the  skipper  makes  out  in  the  we*st, 

Ere  the  earliest  sunstreak  shoots  trenmlous, 

Plashing  with  orange  the  palpitant  lines 

Of  mutable  billow,  crest  after  crest. 

And  murmurs  Acjamatkus  ! 

As  if  it  were  the  name  of  a  saint. 

The  name  is  in  fact  a  legacy  of  the  Indians  who  dwelt  at  its 
foot,  and  who  always  invested  the  mountain  with  a  sacred  char- 
acter. From  this  circumstance  comes  the  Indian  legend  of  Saint 
Aspenquid,  whom  some  writers  have  identified  with  the  patri- 
arch Passaconaway,  the  hero  of  so  many  wonderful  exploits  in 
healing  and  in  necromancy. 


360  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

According  to  the  little  we  are  able  to  recover  concerning  him, 
Saint  Aspenquid  was  born  in  1588,  and  was  nearlj--  one  hundred 
years  old  when  he  died.  He  was  converted  to  Christianity  — 
possibly  by  the  French  Jesuits  —  and  baptized  by  this  name 
when  he  was  about  forty  years  old ;  and  he  at  once  set  about  his 
long  and  active  ministration  among  the  people  of  his  own  race, 
to  whom  he  became  a  tutelary  saint  and  prophet.  For  forty 
years  he  is  said  to  have  wandered  from  east  to  west  and  from 
north  to  south,  preaching  the  gospel  to  sixty-six  different  na- 
tions, healing  the  sick,  and  performing  those  miracles  which 
raised  him  in  the  estimation  of  his  own  people  to  the  character 
of  a  prophet  appointed  by  Heaven,  and  in  that  of  the  whites  to 
a  being  endowed  Avith  supernatural  powers.  These  wanderings 
had  carried  him  from  the  shores  of  the  Atlantic  to  the  Califor- 
nian  Sea.  Grown  venerable  in  his  good  work,  Avarned  that  he 
must  soon  be  gathered  to  his  fathers,  the  saint  at  last  came  home 
to  die  among  his  own  people.  Having  called  all  the  sachems  of 
the  different  tribes  together  to  attend  his  solemn  funeral  obse- 
quies, they  carried  the  body  of  their  patriarch  to  the  summit  of 
Mount  Agamenticus.  Previous  to  performing  the  rite  of  sepul- 
ture, and  agreeable  to  the  custom  held  sacred  by  these  people, 
the  hunters  of  each  tribe  spread  themselves  throughout  the  for- 
ests, A  great  number  of  wild  beasts  were  slaughtered  as  a  sac- 
rifice to  the  manes  of  the  departed  saint.  Tradition  affirms  that 
on  that  day  were  slain  and  offered  up  between  six  and  seven 
thousand  wild  animals,  —  from  the  bear,  the  buffalo,  and  the 
3,  down  to  the  porcupine,  the  Avoodchuck,  and  the  Aveasel. 


SAINT   ASPENQUID. 

JOHN    ALBEE. 

The  Indian  hero,  sorcerer,  and  saint, 
Known  in  the  land  as  Passaconaway, 
And  after  called  the  good  Saint  Aspenquid, 
Returning,  travel  worn  and  spent  Avith  age 
From  vain  attempt  to  reconcile  his  race 


SAINT   ASPENQUID   OF   AGAMENTICUS.  361 

With  ours,  sent  messengers  throughout  the  East 

To  summon  all  the  blood-bound  tribes  to  him  ; 

For  that  upon  the  ancient  meeting-place, 

The  sacred  mountain  Agamenticus, 

When  next  the  moon  should  show  a  new-bent  bow. 

He  there  would  celebrate  his  funeral  least 

With  sacrifices  due  and  farewell  talk. 

The  duskj'  people  heard  and  they  obeyed  ; 

For  known  was  Aspenquid  in  all  the  camps,  — 

Known  was  his  name  where  unknown  was  his  face  ;. 

His  conjuries,  his  valor,  and  his  wit 

The  trackless  forests  traversed  many  a  year, 

And  made  his  name  a  word  of  omen  there. 

Then  gathered  they  from  all  the  hither  land 

Of  wide  St.  Lawrence  and  the  northern  lakes, 

The  warriors  of  the  great  Algonkin  race. 


The  feast  was  ended  :  bird  and  beast  were  slain 
(Three  thousand,  so  the  ancient  annals  say)  ; 
The  dance  was  danced  ;  and  every  rite  performed  ;. 
And  gathered  round  the  summit  of  the  mount 
The  stately,  silent  sachems  stood  intent 
On  Aspenquid.    He  over  all  was  tall 
And  straight  as  ash,  tliough  ripe  with  ninety  years.. 
He  rose  majestic  on  the  sovereign  top 
Of  his  own  land,  and  in  that  solemn  hour 
He  seemed  to  tower  above  his  wonted  height 
As  towers  in  midmost  air  the  stricken  bird. 
Plis  locks  were  thin,  but  raven  black  and  long  ; 
Nor  yet  his  eyes  had  lost  their  splendid  dark, 
But  glowed  deep  set  beneath  a  low,  broad  brow. 
Unpinched  by  age,  his  face  was  firm,  and  bronzed 
Like  leaves  that  hang  all  winter  on  the  oak. 

" Warriors  and  braves,  come  nearer  to  your  chief! 
My  eyes,  that  once  could  brook  the  midday  sun. 
And  see  the  eagle  ere  myself  was  seen, 
Are  dimmed  with  age  ;  and  but  a  pace  beyond 
A  misty  light  seems  settled  over  all. 


362  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Come  nearer,  braves,  that  I  may  feast  my  eyes 
On  your  young  limbs,  on  what  myself  once  was  ! 

My  race  decays,  and  I  have  lived  too  long  ; 

My  limbs  with  ninety  weary  winters'  strife 

Are  spent ;  my  lathers  call  me  unto  them. 

I  go  to  comfort  their  impatient  shades, 

And  respite  find  for  all  my  own  mischance. 

And  here  once  more  on  Agamenticus, 

My  old  ancestral  powwow's  sacred  seat, 

That  saw  the  waters  Ijurn  and  trees  to  dance, 

And  winter's  withered  leaves  grow  green  again, 

And  in  dead  serpent's  skin  the  living  coil, 

While  they  themselves  would  change  themselves  to  flame 

And  where  not  less  did  I  myself  conjure 

The  mighty  magic  of  my  fathers'  rites 

Against  my  foe,  —  yet  all  without  effect ; 

The  spirits  also  flee  where  white  men  come. 

I  turn  to  join  my  kindred  sagamores, 

And  fly  before  the  doom  I  could  not  change. 

Light  not  the  fires  of  vengeance  in  your  hearts. 

For  sure  the  flame  will  turn  against  yourselves, 

And  you  will  perish  utterly  from  earth. 

Nor  yet  submit  too  meekly,  but  maintain 

The  valorous  name  once  ours  in  happy  days. 

Be  prudent,  wise,  and  always  slow  to  strike. 

Fall  back  ;  seek  other  shores  and  hunting-grounds,  — 

I  cannot  bear  you  perish  utterl}'  ! 

Though,  looking  through  the  melancholy  years, 

I  see  the  end,  but  turn  my  face  away, 

So  heavy  are  my  eyes  witli  unshed  tears  ; 

And  yours  too  I  would  turn,  warriors  and  braves  I 

And  mind  not  my  prophetic  vision  much,  — 

Th'  unhappy  gift  of  him  who  lives  too  long; 

But  mind  the  counsel  many  years  have  taught, 

The  last  I  give  :  remember  it,  and  live  !  " 


fart  €cntf). 

OLD-COLONY    LEGENDS. 


HANGING  BY   PROXY. 

IN  his  "  New  English  Canaan,"  first  published  at  London  in 
1632,  Thomas  Morton,  the  dispossessed  and  exiled  planter 
of  Mount  Wollaston,  alias  Merry  Mount,  relates  the  droll 
doings  "  Of  a  Parliament  held  at  Wessaguscus."  Wessaguscus 
is  now  Weymouth,  Mass.  It  was  first  settled  by  a  trad- 
ing company  sent  out  by  Thomas  Weston,  — a  London  mer- 
chant with  whom  the  Plymouth  Pilgrims  had  had  some 
dealings,  but  whose  present  enterprise  they  regarded  with  no 
particular  favor.  This  Morton  is  a  character  about  which  there 
are  at  least  two  opinions  :  the  one  generally  received  being  that 
he  was  a  lawless,  dissolute,  reckless,  and  able  scamp,  who  led 
a  vagabond  life  among  vagabond  followers;  whence  Hubbard 
styles  him  "lord  of  misrule."  There  is  no  question  that  the 
Pilgrims  looked  upon  him  as  a  dangerous  neighbor,  or  that 
he  regarded  them  with  unconcealed  aversion  and  disdain.  So 
far  as\e  was  anything,  he  was  a  Churchman ;  while  they  were 
out-and-out  Separatists.  He  used  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer  ; 
they  abhorred  and  rejected  it.  He  calls  them  ironicaUy  the 
"Brethren;"  they  term  him  "pettifogger"  and  "atheist." 
Such  opposite  views  in  morals  and  government  were  not  long 
coming  into  collision. 

Morton  was,  however,  a  man  of  education  and  ability,  —  which 
by  no  means  proves  that  he  was  not  all  the  Pilgrims  allege  him 


366  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

to  have  been,  —  an  unprincipled  adventurer.  Taking  his  "  New 
English  Canaan"  as  the  index  of  his  character,  one  reads  at 
every  few  lines  some  evidence  of  his  strong  predilection  for  a 
life  of  indolence  and  pleasure.  His  idea  was  to  establish  an 
Arcadia,  witli  the  natives  as  his  vassals.  He  restored  the  Old- 
English  holiday  customs,  which  the  Puritans  considered  idola- 
trous, and  which  they  had  prohibited  among  themselves.  He 
rechristened  his  plantation  of  Mount  Wollaston  by  the  name  of 
Merry  Mount,  with  the  old  May-Day  ceremonies  of  wine,  wassail, 
and  the  dance  around  the  May-pole,  to  celebrate  the  change.  He 
composed  riddles  in  verse  addressed  to  liis  followers  that  show 
an  equal  familiarity  with  classical  lore  and  with  the  debased 
manners  of  the  court  wits  and  rhymesters  of  the  day.  He 
furnished  the  Indians  with  firearms  to  hunt  for  him,  which 
they  soon  learned  to  use  against  their  masters.  Taking  the 
alarm,  the  outraged  Pilgrims  seized  and  shipped  Morton  a  pris- 
oner to  England,  without  law  or  other  warrant  than  the  "  higher 
law  "  that  might  makes  right ;  and  it  was  while  smarting  under 
the  sense  of  injury  that  Morton  wrote  this  most  entertaining 
account  of  liis  personal  adventures  in  the  New  English  Canaan. 

This  brings  us  T)ack  to  Morton's  story  of  how  justice  was 
administered  at  that  early  day  in  New  England,  notably  at  the 
plantation  of  Wessaguscus.  It  is  no  fault  of  Morton  that  the 
tale  has  grown  since  leaving  his  capable  hands.  But  to  him 
belongs  the  honor  of  having  first  set  it  down  in  black  and 
white.     He  says  :  — 

"Master  Weston's  plantation  being  settled  at  Wessaguscus,  his 
servants,  or  many  of  them,  being  lazy  persons  ^that  would  use  no 
endeavor  to  take  the  benefit  of  the  country,  some  of  them  fell  sick 
and  died. 

•'  One  among  the  rest,  an  able-bodied  man  that  ranged  the  forest 
to  see  what  it  would  afford  him,  stumbled  by  accident  on  an  Indian 
granary,  concealed,  as  the  custom  was  with  those  people,  under- 
ground ;  and  from  it  he  took  a  capful  of  corn,  and  then  went  his 
way.  The  Indian  owner,  finding  by  the  footprint  that  the  thief 
was  an  Englishman,  came  and  made  his  complaint  at  the  plantation. 


HANGING   BY   PKOXY. 


367 


"  The  chief  commander  of  the  company  immediately  called  to- 
gether a  parliament  of  all  those  who  were  not  sick,  to  hear  and 
determine  the  cause  of  complaint.  And  wisely  now,"  continues 
Morton,  with  phiyful  irony,  "  they  should  consult  upon  this  huge 
complaint,  that  a  knife  or  a  string  of  beads  would  well  enough  have 
disposed  of,  Edward  Johnson  being  made  a  special  judge  of  this 
business.  The  fact  was  there  in  repetition,  construction  made  that 
it  was  a  felony,  and  by  the  laws  of  England  punished  with  death  ; 
and  this  in  execution  must  be  put  for  an  example,  and  likewise  ta 
appease  the  savage  ;  when  straightway  one  arose,  moved  as  it  were 
with  some  compassion,  and  said  he  could  not  well  gainsay  the  former 
sentence,  yet  he  had  conceived  within  the  compass  of  his  brain  an 
Embrion  (an  unborn  child)  that  was  of  special  consequence  to  be 
delivered  and  cherished.  He  said  that  it  would  most  aptly  serve  to 
pacify  the  savage's  complaint,  and  save  the  life  of  one  that  might 
(if  need  should  be)  stand  them  in  some  good  stead,  being  young  and 
strong,  tit  for  resistance  against  an  enemy,  which  might  come  un- 
expected for  anything  they  knew. 

"  This  oration  was  liked  by  every  one  ;  and  the  orator  was  en- 
treated to  show  how  tliis  end  might  be  reached.     He  went  on :  — 

«'  Says  he, '  You  all  agree  that  one  nmst  die,  and  one  shall  die.  This 
young  man's  clothes  we  will  take  off,  and  put  upon  one  that  is  old  and 
impotent,  — a  sickly  person  that  cannot  escape  death;  such  is  the 
disease  on  him  confirmed,  that  die  he  must :  put  the  young  man's 
clothes  on  this  man,  and  let  the  sick  person  be  hanged  in  the  other's 
stead.'     '  Amen,'  says  one  ;  and  so  say  many  more. 

"  And  this  had  like  to  have  proved  tlieir  final  sentence,  and  being 
there  confirmed  by  Act  of  Parliament  to  after-ages  for  a  precedent, 
but  that  one  with  a  ravenous  voice  began  to  croak  and  bellow  for 
reven-e,  and  put  by  that  conclusive  motion,  alleging  that  such 
deceitl  mi"ht  be  a  means  hereafter  to  exasperate  the  minds  of  the 
conmlaining  savages,  and  that  by  his  death  the  savages  should  see 
their  zeal  to  do  justice  ;  and  therefore  he  should  die.  This  was  con- 
cluded. Yet,  nevertheless,  a  scruple  was  made  ;  now  to  counter- 
mand this  act  did  represent  itself  unto  their  minds,  which  was  how 
they  should  do  to  get  the  man's  good-will.  This  was  indeed  a  special 
obstacle,  for  without  (that  they  all  agreed)  it  would  be  dangerous 
for  any  man  to  attempt  the  execution  of  it,  lest  mischief  should  be- 
fall them,  everv  man.  He  was  a  person,  that  in  his  wrath  did  seem 
to  be  a  second  Samson,  able  to  beat  out  their  brains  with  the  jawbone 


368  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

of  an  ass.  Therefore  they  called  the  man,  and  by  persuasion  got 
him  fast  bound  in  jest,  and  then  hanged  him  up  hard  by  in  good 
earnest,  who  with  a  weapon,  and  at  liberty,  would  have  put  all  these 
wise  judges  of  this  parliament  to  a  pitiful  nonplus  (as  it  hath  been 
credibly  reported),  and  made  the  chief  judge  of  them  all  buckle 
to  him." 

This  is  Morton's  own  narration.  The  actual  culprit,  lie  de- 
clares, was  really  liauged,  in  spite  of  the  ingenious  proposal  to 
hang  up  another  man  in  his  stead,  which  at  first  had  tickled  the 
fancy  of  the  parliament.  As  if  to  corroborate  the  story,  Brad- 
ford tells  us  that  these  Wessaguscus  planters  were  fain  to  hang 
one  of  their  men  whom  they  could  not  reclaim  from  stealing,  in 
order  to  give  the  Indians  content. 

Morton's  story  is  generally  admitted  to  be  the  foundation  for 
Butler's  mirth-provoking  one  in  "  Hudibras,"  which  appeared 
thirty  years  later,  to  delight  the  world  with  its  incomparable 
■drollery  and  satire.  The  satirist,  whom  nothing  escaped,  there 
puts  it  into  the  mouth  of  Ealpho,  who  is  endeavoring  in  a 
most  Jesuitical  way  to  clear  away  his  master's  scruples  in  regard 
to  the  flagellation  he  had  promised  to  undergo  for  his  lady's 
.sake,  but -was  disposed  to  avoid.  The  squire  artfully  debates 
the   point  of  honor  involved  :  — 

Though  nice  and  dark  the  point  appear, 
Quoth  Ralph,  it  may  hold  up  and  clear. 
That  sinners  may  supply  the  place 
Of  .suffering  saints,  is  a  plain  case. 
Justice  gives  sentence  many  times 
On  one  man  for  another's  crimes. 
Our  brethren  of  New  England  use 
Choice  malefactors  to  excuse. 
And  hang  the  guiltless  in  their  stead, 
Of  whom  the  churches  have  less  need. 
As  lately 't  happened  ;  in  a  town 
There  liv'd  a  cobbler,  and  but  one 
That  out  of  doctrine  could  cut  use. 
And  mend  men's  lives  as  well  as  shoes. 


HANGING   BY   PROXY.  369 

This  precious  brother  having  slain, 
In  time  of  peace,  an  Indian, 
Not  out  of  malice,  but  mere  zeal, 
Because  he  was  an  infidel, 
The  mighty  Tottipottinioy 
Sent  to  our  elders  an  envoy, 
Complaining  sorely  of  the  breach 
Of  league,  held  forth  by  brother  Patch, 
Against  the  articles  in  force 
Between  both  churches,  his  and  ours. 
But  they  maturely  having  weigh'd 
They  had  no  more  but  him  o'  th'  trade, 
A  man  that  serv'd  them  in  a  double 
Capacity  to  teach  and  cobble, 
Resolv'd  to  spare  him  ;  yet  to  do 
The  Indian  Hoghan  Moghan  too 
Impartial  justice,  in  his  stead  did 
Hang  an  old  weaver  that  was  bedrid. 

In  the  author's  notes  to  the  early  editions  of  "Hudibras"  the 
story  is  asserted  to  be  true.  Hubbard  repeats  it  with  the  quali- 
fication that  the  hanging  was  only  pretended,  although  he  had 
seen  the  extract  we  have  given  from  Bradford;  and  he  had 
also  read  and  enjoyed  the  manner  "  with  Avhich  the  merry  gen- 
tleman that  wrote  '  Hudibras '  did  in  his  poetical  fancy  make 
so  much  sport." 

That  in  one  form  or  another  the  story  now  became  current  as 
true,  is  no  longer  a  matter  of  doubt.  We  next  discover  it  in 
a  different  dress,  related  with  much  gusto  by  Governor  Dudley  to 
Captain  Uring,  and  printed  at  length  in  the  latter's  "Voyages." 
It  will  be  seen  that  tlie  anecdote  has  lost  nothing  by  passing  from 
mouth  to  mouth.     This  is  Governor  Dudley's  version  :  — 

"  One  day,  while  a  carpenter  was  cutting  down  a  tree,  and  a 
crowd  of  Indians  stood  around,  watching  every  blow  with  the  greatest 
attention,  the  tree  fell  on  one  of  them  who  did  not  get  out  of  the 
way,  killing  him  on  the  spot.  The  other  Indians  set  up  a  great 
howling  over  the  dead  bodj^  while  the  frightened  carpenter  ran  and 
hid  himself  to  escape  their  vengeance  ;  for  they  foolishly  thought 
24 


370  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

him  to  blame  for  the  death  of  their  couipaniou.  The  English  tried 
to  persuade  them  that  the  carpenter  was  not  at  fault;  but  nothing 
short  of  his  death  would  pacify  them.  They  demanded  that  he 
should  be  given  up  to  them  for  execution.  Seeing  them  thus  en- 
raged, and  fearing  that  they  might  fall  upon  and  destroy  them,  the 
English  finally  promised  to  hang  the  unlucky  carpenter  themselves. 
The  Indians  were  told  to  come  the  next  morning,  and  they  would 
see  him  hanging  from  a  particular  tree.  But  the  carpenter  being  a 
young  and  lusty  fellow,  and  very  useful,  they  concluded  they  could 
not  spare  him  ;  and  there  being  in  the  fort  an  old  bedridden  weaver 
who  had  not  long  to  live,  he  was  taken  out  to  the  tree  and  quietly 
hanged  in  the  room  of  the  carpenter,  to  the  entire  satisfaction  of  the 
Indians,  who  did  not  detect  the  cheat,  and  who  became  good  friends 
again. 


THE   OLD   OAKEN   BUCKET. 

THE  touch  of  nature  to  which  all  yield,  has  no  higher  exem- 
plification than  in  those  simple  ballads  of  home  and  its 
associations  that  have  made  the  names  of  Payne  and  Woodworth 
immortal.  One  does  not  care  to  analyze  his  sensations  ;  he 
forgets  the  homely  phrase  ;  he  feels,  and  is  deeply  affected  by 
the  awakening  of  those  memories  which  carry  him  back  to  the 
days  of  his  happy  and  innocent  childhood  ;  he  is  a  child  again. 
This  secret,  yet  powerful  chord  was  struck  by  Samuel  Wood- 
worth  in  his  "  Old  Oaken  Bucket ; "  and  it  has  not  yet  ceased  to 
vibrate  a  tender  harmony  whenever  that  uuistei'piece  of  liuman 
emotion  is  spoken  or  sung. 

Dear  old  "  Goldy  "  has  well  expressed  tliat  inextinguishable 
yearning  for  the  spot  of  ground  we  call  "home"  in  these  touch- 
ing lines  :  — 

In  all  my  wanderings  round  this  world  of  care. 
In  all  my  griefs,  —  and  God  has  given  my  share,  — 
I  still  had  hopes,  my  long  vexations  past, 
Here  to  return,  and  die  at  home  at  last. 


THE  OLD  OAKEN  BUCKET.  371 

What  are  those  endearing  scenes  which  in  the  "  Old  Oaken 
Bucket  "  find  their  counterpart  in  the  memory  of  thousands  1 

The  town  of  Scituate,  Massachusetts,  one  of  the  most  ancient 
of  the  Okl  Colony,  joins  Cohasset  on  the  south.  Its  history  is 
memorable  and  interesting.  The  people  come  of  a  hardy  and 
determined  ancestry,  who  foiight  for  every  inch  of  ground  that 
their  descendants  now  hold.  To  this  fact  may  perhaps  be  re- 
ferred the  strength  of  those  associations,  clinging  like  ivy  around 
some  of  the  most  notable  of  the  ancient  homesteads.  To  bor- 
row from  Mr.  oS^ason  :  "  The  scene  so  vividly  described  in  Mr. 
Woodworth's  charming  lyric  is  a  little  valley  through  which 
Herring  Brook  pursues  its  devious  way  to  meet  the  tidal  waters 
of  North  Eiver.  The  view  of  it  from  Coleman  Heights,  with 
its  neat  cottages,  its  maple-groves  and  apple-orchards,  is  remark- 
ably beautiful.  The  'wide-spreading  pond,'  the  'mill,'  the 
*  dairy-house,'  the  '  rock  where  the  cataract  fell,'  and  even  the 
'  old  well,'  if  not  the  '  moss-covered  bucket '  itself,  may  still  be 
seen  just  as  the  poet  described  them." 

Among  these  scenes  Samuel  Woodworth,  the  people's  puet, 
was  born  and  reared.  iUthough  the  house  is  no  longer  there, 
many  pilgrims  stop  at  its  modern  successor  in  order  to  slake 
their  thirst  at  the  waters,  the  recollection  of  which  gave  the  poet 
such  exquisite  pleasure  in  after  years.  One  would  still  have  the 
surroundings  unchangetl,  —  the  cot  where  he  dwelt,  the  pon- 
derous well-sweep,  creaking  with  age,  that  his  youthful  hands 
tugged  feebly  at;  and,  finally,  the  mossy  bucket  overflowing 
with  crystal  nectar  fresh  from  the  cool  depths  below.  But  since 
changes  will  come  to  transform  the  picture,  tlie  susceptible  vis- 
itor must  be  content  to  quaft*  a  draught  of  purest  water  to  the 
memory  of  one  of  the  kindliest  poets  tliat  our  New  England  soil 
has  produced. 

To  this  rapid  sketch  of  the  scene  we  may  now  add  the  history 
of  the  popular  ballad,  "The  Old  Oaken  Bucket."  The  circum- 
stances under  which  it  was  composed  and  written  —  and  they 
embody  a  moral  as  well  as  consecrate  a  memory  —  are  said  to 
be  as  follows  :  — 


^'^m^Mf:^-^^k?' 


'  J 


TIIK   OI-U    OAKEN   BUCKET. 


THE  OLD  OAKEN  BUCKET.  373 

Samuel  Woodwortli  was  a  printer,  wlio  bad  served  his  appren- 
ticeship under  tlie  veteran  Major  Kussell,  of  "  The  Columbian 
Centiriel,"  a  journal  which  was  in  its  day  the  leading  Federalist 
organ  of  New  England.  He  had  inberited  the  wandering  propen- 
sity of  his  class  :  yielding  to  which  he  in  due  time  removed  first 
to  Hartford,  and  then  to  New  York,  where,  after  an  unsuccessful 
career  as  a  publisher,  he  became  associated  with  Morris  as  one 
of  the  founders  of  "  The  Mirror."  It  was  while  he  was  living 
in  New  York,  and  after  many  vicissitudes  had  tempered  the 
enthusiasm  of  his  youth,  that,  in  company  with  some  brother 
printers,  he  one  day  dropped  in  at  a  well-known  establishment, 
tlien  kept  by  Mallory,  to  take  a  social  glass  with  them.  The 
cognac  was  pronounced  excellent.  After  tasting  it,  Woodworth 
set  his  glass  down  on  the  table,  and  smacking  his  lips,  declared 
emphatically  that  Mallory's  eau  de  vie  was  superior  to  anything 
that  he  had  ever  tasted. 

"  There  you  are  mistaken,"  said  one  of  his  comrades  quietly  ; 
then  adding,  "there  certainly  was  one  thing  that  far  surpassed 
this  in  the  way  of  drinking,  as  you,  too,  will  readily  acknowledge 
when  you  hear  it." 

"  Indeed  ;  and  pray  what  was  that  1 "  Woodworth  asked,  with 
apparent  incredulity  that  anything  could  surpass  the  liquor  then 
before  him. 

"The  draught  of  pure  and  sparkling  spring  water  that  we 
used  to  get  from  the  old  oaken  bucket  that  hung  in  the  well, 
after  our  return  from  the  labors  of  the  field  on  a  sultry  summer's 
day." 

No  one  spoke ;  all  were  busy  with  their  own  thoughts. 
A  tear-drop  glistened  for  a  moment  inWoodworth's  eye.  "True, 
true,"  he  exclaimed  ;  and  soon  after  quitted  the  place.  With  a 
heart  overflowing  with  the  recollections  that  this  chance  allusion 
in  a  bar-room  had  inspired,  the  scene  of  his  happier  childhood 
life  rushed  upon  him  in  a  flood  of  feeling.  He  hastened  back 
to  the  office  in  which  he  then  worked,  seized  a  pen,  and  in  half 
an  hour  had  written  the  popular  ballad  wliich  follows.  Wood- 
worth  died  in  1842,  at  the  age  of  fifty-seven.     His  reputation 


374  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

rests  upon  this  one  stroke  of  genius.  He  never  wrote  anything 
better  than  this  beautiful  lyric,  which  is  capable  of  hushing  the 
most  boisterous  assemblies  into  silence,  —  such  is  the  homage 
that  all  instinctively  pay  to  the  purest  and  holiest  of  human 
associations. 

THE   OLD   OAKEN    BUCKET. 

SAMUEL    WOODWORTH. 

How  dear  to  this  heart  are  the  scenes  of  my  childhood, 

When  fond  Recollection  presents  them  to  view  ! 
The  orchard,  the  meadow,  the  deep-tangled  wildwood, 

And  every  loved  spot  which  my  infancy  knew,  — 
The  wide-spreading  pond,  and  the  mill  which  stood  by  it, 

The  bridge,  and  the  rock  where  the  cataract  fell  ; 
The  cot  of  my  father,  the  dairy -house  nigh  it. 

And  e'en  the  rude  bucket  which  hung  in  the  well,  — 
The  old  oaken  bucket,  the  iron-bound  bucket. 
The  moss-covered  bucket  which  hnng  in  the  well. 

That  moss-covered  vessel  I  hail  as  a  trc-asure  ; 

For  often,  at  noon,  when  returned  from  the  field, 
I  found  it  the  source  of  an  exquisite  pleasure,  — 

The  purest  and  sweetest  that  nature  can  yield. 
How  ardent  I  seized  it,  with  hands  that  were  glowing  ! 

And  quick  to  the  white-pebbled  bottom  it  fell  ; 
Then  soon,  with  the  emblem  of  truth  overflowing. 

And  dripping  with  coolness,  it  rose  from  the  well,  — 
The  old  oaken  bucket,  the  iron-bound  bucket. 
The  moss-covered  bucket,  arose  from  the  well. 

How  sweet  from  the  green  mossy  brim  to  receive  it. 

As,  poised  on  the  curb,  it  inclined  to  my  lips  ! 
Not  a  full  l)luslung  goblet  could  tempt  me  to  leave  it, 

Though  filled  with  the  nectar  that  Jupiter  sips. 
And  now,  far  removed  from  the  loved  situation. 

The  tear  of  Regret  will  intrusively  swell, 
As  Fancy  reverts  to  my  fatlnr's  plantation. 

And  siglis  for  the  bucket  whicli  hangs  iu  the  well,  — 
The  old  oaken  bucket,  the  iron-bound  bucket. 
The  moss-covered  bucket  wliich  hangs  in  the  well 


DESTRUCTION    OF   MINOT's    LIGHT. 


375 


DESTRUCTION    OF   MINOT'S   LIGHT. 


THE  dangerous   reef  stretching  far  out    into  the    sea  from 
Cohasset,  so  shaggy   with  kelp  and  rockweed  that  each 
separate  rock  looks  like  the  head  of  a  monster  rising  to  take 

breath,  has  acquired  a 
fatal  celebrity.  Many 
a  good  ship's  bones 
lie  buried  in  the 
treacherous  sands,  or 
whitening  among  the 
sharp  rocks  in  the  oif- 
ing.  In  the  autumnal 
gale  of  1849,  fully 
one  hundred  liv( 
were  sacrificed  to  its 
fury  upon  this  coast. 
In  that  gale  the  ill- 
fated  "St.  John's,"  an 
emigrant  ship,  struck 
here  on  Cohasset 
Rocks,  when  within 
sight  of  her  port,  and 
became  a  total  wreck. 
Twenty-seven  bodies 
were  recovereil,  and 
buried  in  the  village 


.IGUTIIOUSK. 


376  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

gravej'-ard.  Those  who  have  visited  the  Minot's  Lighthouse 
only  on  a  summer's  day  can  faintly  imagine  the  fury  of  a 
wintry  storm,  or  the  power  with  which  the  seas  then  dash 
themselves  high  over  the  lantern  of  the  tower.  The  place  had 
long  been  one  of  terror  to  mariners,  when,  aroused  by  the  long 
catalogue  of  disasters  signalling  it,  the  Government  in  1849 
began  the  erection  of  a  lighthouse  on  Minot's  Eock,  known  to 
be  one  of  the  most  dangerous  of  this  dangerous  shore.  It  was 
constructed  upon  the  novel,  and  as  it  proved  the  mistaken,  idea 
of  opposing  as  little  resistance  to  the  free  movement  of  the 
waves  as  possible.  With  this  view  ponderous  iron  piles  were 
sunk  deep  in  the  rock,  and  upon  them  Avas  built  tlie  keeper's 
house  and  lantern,  the  floor  of  the  dwelling  being  tlius  elevated 
fully  forty  feet  above  the  seas  which  rolled  beneath  it.  "When 
the  great  storm  of  April  14,  1851,  to  which  people  long  referred 
with  a  shudder,  began,  Bennet,  the  keeper,  was  on  shore,  the 
lighthouse  being  then  in  charge  of  two  assistants.  Tlie  storm 
steadily  increased  to  a  tremendous  gale  from  the  northeast,  that 
continued  with  unabated  fury  throughout  tlie  two  succeeding 
days.  By  this  time  grave  apprehensions  began  to  be  felt  for 
the  security  of  the  structure.  The  last  time  that  the  lighthouse 
was  seen  standing  was  shortly  after  three  o'clock  on  Wednesday, 
the  third  day  of  the  gale.  Tlie  weather  then  became  too  thick 
to  distinguish  it ;  but  the  lantern  was  not  lighted,  as  usual, 
during  that  night,  or  if  lighted,  it  could  not  be  made  out  from 
the  shore.  At  an  early  hour  on  the  following  morning  the 
keeper,  while  making  his  round,  found  fragments  of  the  resi- 
dence strewed  along  the  beach.  The  lighthouse  with  all  it  con- 
tained had  been  swept  away  during  that  night  of  fear,  and 
no  one  had  been  left  to  tell  the  tale.  When  the  gale  had 
spent  itself,  the  great  waves  were  seen  tossing  in  mad  glee  on 
the  spot  where  it  had  stood  :  the  beautiful  aerial  tower  had 
disappeared. 


minot's  ledge.  377 

MINOT'S   LEDGE,   MASS. 

BY    FITZ-JAMES    o'bRIEN. 

Like  spectral  hounds  across  the  sky, 
The  white  clouds  scud  before  the  storm  ; 
And  naked  in  the  howling  night 
The  red-eyed  lighthouse  lifts  its  form. 
The  waves  with  slippery  fingers  clutch 
The  massive  tower,  and  climb  and  fall, 
And,  muttering,  growl  with  baffled  rage 
Their  curses  on  the  sturdy  wall. 

Up  in  the  lonely  tower  he  sits. 
The  keeper  of  the  crimson  light ; 
Silent  and  awestruck  does  he  hear 
The  imprecations  of  the  night  ; 
The  white  spray  beats  against  the  panes 
Like  some  wet  ghost  that  down  the  air 
Is  hunted  by  a  troop  of  fiends, 
And  seeks  a  shelter  anywhere. 

He  prays  aloud,  the  lonely  man. 

For  every  soul  that  night  at  sea, 

But  more  than  all  for  that  brave  boy 

Who  used  to  gayly  climb  his  knee,  — 

Young  Charlie,  with  his  chestnut  hair 

And  hazel  eye  and  laughing  lip. 

"  May  Heaven  look  down,"  the  old  man  cries, 

"  Upon  my  son,  and  on  his  ship  !  " 

While  thus  with  pious  heart  he  prays. 
Far  in  the  distance  sounds  a  boom  : 
He  pauses  ;  and  again  there  rings 
That  sullen  thunder  through  the  room, 
A  ship  upon  the  shoals  to-night ! 
She  cannot  hold  for  one  half  hour ; 
But  clear  the  ropes  and  grappling-hooks, 
And  trust  in  the  Almighty  Power ! 


378  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

On  the  drenched  gallery  he  stands, 

Striving  to  pierce  the  solid  night  : 

Across  the  sea  the  red  eye  throws 

A  steady  crimson  wake  of  light  ; 

And,  where  it  falls  upon  the  waves, 

He  sees  a  human  head  float  by, 

With  long  drenched  curls  of  chestnut  hair, 

And  wild,  but  fearless  hazel  eye. 

Out  with  the  hooks  !     One  mighty  Hing  ! 
Adown  the  wind  the  long  rope  curls. 
Oh  !   will  it  catch  ?     Ah,  dread  suspense, 
While  the  wild  ocean  wilder  whirls  ! 
A  steady  pull ;  it  tightens  now  : 
Oh  !  his  old  heart  will  burst  with  joy, 
As  on  the  slippery  rocks  he  pulls 
The  breathing  body  of  his  boy. 

Still  sweep  the  spectres  through  the  sky ; 
Still  scud  the  clouds  before  the  storm  ; 
Still  naked  in  the  howling  night 
The  red-eyed  lighthouse  lifts  its  form. 
Without,  the  world  is  wild  with  rage ; 
Unkennelled  demons  are  abroad  : 
But  with  the  father  and  the  son 
Within,  there  is  the  peace  of  God. 


LEGENDS   OF   PLYMOUTH   ROCK. 

""VTO  good  American  would  willingly  die  witliout  having  seen 
-IN      Plymouth  Rock. 

There  is  no  certain  record  of  a  day  upon  which  all  of  tho 
"Mayflower's"  company  disembarked  ;  but  those  having  the  best 
right  to  do  it  fixed  the  date  as  the  22d  of  December,  1G20. 

Justly  regarded  as  the  most  important  one  in  American  liis- 
tory,  the  event  has  been  celebrated  by  some  of  the  most  spirited 


LEGENDS  OF  PLYMOUTH  KOCK. 


379 


poems  in  the  language ;  and  to  those  who  love  the  old  songs  — 
and  who  does  not  1  —  the  stanzas  of  Felicia  Hemans,  Pierpont, 
Sigourney,  Sprague,  and  Percival,  retain  all  the  freshness  and 
inspiration  of  their  chihlhood's  days. 

The  honor   of  having  first  touched  the  shore   on    the    ever- 
memorable  day  is  shared  by  two  claimants.     Both  are  supported 


MARY    CIIILTON's   LEAP. 

by  family  tradition.  That  giving  it  to  John  Alden  was  handed 
down  through  successive  generations,  until  it  was  printed  in  his 
collection  of  Epitaphs,  by  the  Reverend  Timothy  Alden,  ]).D., 
a  lineal  descendant  of  John,  and  thus  obtained  a  permanent 
record. 


380  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

The  second  claimant  is  Mary  Chilton,  a  maiden  who  subse- 
quentl}'  became  the  wife  of  John  Winslow  of  Plymouth,  and 
the  mother  of  a  large  family  inheriting  the  most  distinguished 
traits  of  the  Pilgrims,  with  an  honorable  name.  The  husband 
of  Mary  Chilton  removed  after  a  time  from  the  Old  Colony  to 
Boston,  where  the  family  tomb,  with  its  arms,  may  be  seen  in 
King's  Chapel  Yard. 

It  is  a  somewhat  curious  fact  that  a  precisely  similar  tradition 
exists  with  respect  to  the  landing  at  Boston,  which  runs  to  the 
effect  that,  being  then  a  romping  girl,  Anne  Pollard  declared  that 
she  would  be  the  first  person  to  jump  on  shore,  and  was  as  good 
as  her  word  as  soon  as  the  boat's  keel  grounded  upon  the  beach. 

But  whoever  may  be  entitled  to  the  preference,  —  and  that 
question  will  probably  remain  unsettled, — the  simple  act  sur- 
rounds the  statuesque  figure  of  the  eager  youth  or  maiden  with 
a  glamour  rendering  it  the  foremost  and  striking  object  of  the 
historical  picture.  There  is  still  another  point  of  view.  A 
youth  in  the  full  vigor  of  manhood,  whose  posterity  should 
inherit  the  virgin  land,  sets  his  nervous  foot  upon  the  corner- 
stone of  a  nation,  and  makes  it  an  historic  spot.  X  young  girl  in 
the  first  bloom  of  womanhood,  the  type  of  a  coming  maternity, 
boldly  crosses  the  threshold  of  a  wilderness  Avhich  her  children's 
children  shall  possess  and  inhabit,  and  transforms  it  into  an 
Eden.  Surely  John  Alden  should  have  married  Mary  Chilton 
on  the  spot. 

MAEY   CHILTON. 

GEORGE    BANCROFT    GRIFFITH. 

Fair  beams  that  kiss  the  sparkling  bay, 

Rest  warmest  o'er  her  tranquil  sleep, 
Sweet  exile  !  love  enticed  away,  — 

The  first  on  Plymouth  Rock  to  leap  ! 
Among  the  timid  flock  she  stood, 

Rare  figure,  near  the  "  Mayflower's  "  prow, 
With  heart  of  Christian  fortitude, 

And  li'dit  heroic  on  lier  brow! 


LEGENDS  OF  PLYMOUTH  ROCK. 


381 


O  ye  who  round  King's  Chapel  stray, 

Forget  the  turmoil  of  the  street ; 
Though  loftier  names  are  round  her,  lay 

A  wreath  of  flowers  at  Mary's  feet ! 
Though  gallant  Winslows  slumber  here, 

E'en  worthy  Lady  Andros  too, 
Her  memory  is  still  as  dear, 

And  poets'  praise  to  Mary  due. 


;-f-^F^'^ 


ANCIENT    STONE,    BURIAL   HILL. 


But  besides  being  the  renowned  stepping-stone  of  history, 
Forefathers'  Eock  has  exerted  in  the  course  of  time  upon  the 
minds  of  men  who  stood  in  the  presence  of  grave  events,  a 
secret,  a  talisraanic  influence.  In  the  antique  days  of  chivalry 
men  seldom  set  out  upon  any  doubtful  or  hazardous  adventure 


382 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


'"-f^Y^ 


witliout  tirst  visiting  some  holy  shrine,  and  imploring  the  aid  or 
protection  of  their  patron  saint.  In  these  later  times  men  have 
repaired  for  inspiration  to  tliis  rock  as  they  would  to  a  shrine, 
and  they  have  not  been  ashamed  to  confess  that  they  found  it 
a  Living  Rock,  nerving  them  to  patriotic  effort,  or  muving  them 
to  inspired  utterances  in  hehalf  of  mankind. 

When  in    1774  all   the  land   was    in  a  flame,   the    spirit  of 
the  Old  Colony  having  risen   to  fever  heat,  it  was  determined 

newly  to   consecrate 
'  ^  the  rock  to  the  divine 

~"-^  spirit  of  Liberty.   On 

i^     ^  the    appointed    day 

all  the  roads  lead- 
ing into  Plymouth 
Avere  thronged.  Four 
thousand  freemen 
had  assembled  with- 
in the  town  by  noon- 
day on  the  5  th  of 
October.  They  were 
met  to  pledge  them- 
selves to  each  other 
against  the  oppres- 
sion of  the  mother 
country.  All  were 
animated  by  the  con- 
sciousness of  acting 
in  a  rightful  cause 
that  moved  them  as 
one  man  ;  all  were  burning  with  patriotic  zeal.  They  first  n'- 
quired  all  the  Tory  partisans  of  the  Crown  to  make  a  public 
recantation.  This  being  done,  they  proceeded  to  the  spot  where 
their  ancestors  had  landed,  with  the  purpose  of  removing  Fore- 
fiithers'  Rock  to  the  public  square  in  the  centre  of  the  village. 
But  while  it  was  being  raised  from  its  primitive  bed,  and  as  if 
to  oppose  the  act  of  desecration,  the  rock  suddenly  split  in  two. 


MONUMENT   OVER   FOREFATHERS     ROCK, 
PLYMOUTH. 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF   MYLES   STANDISH.  383 

This  accident,  which  to  many  seemed  a  warning,  so  dashed  the 
spirit  of  the  actors,  that  the  proceedings  were  near  coming  to  an 
abrupt  end  ;  but  some  quick-witted  spectator  having  declared  it 
to  presage  the  violent  sundering  of  the  empire  in  twain,  it  was 
accepted  as  a  good  omen,  the  upper  half  was  drawn  in  triumph 
to  the  open  space  in  front  of  the  meeting-house,  and  there  de- 
posited, at  the  foot  of  the  liberty-pole,  from  which  a  flag  bearing 
the  legend,  "  Liberty  or  Death,"  was  flung  to  the  breeze.  And 
thus  the  rock  was  made  to  play  an  active  part  in  the  great 
controversy. 

This  is  tlie  portion  of  Forefathers'  Rock  that  so  many  thou- 
sand curious  pilgrims  have  seen  lying  on  tiie  grass  plat  in  front 
of  Pilgrim  Hall;  while  a  monument,  built  in  the  form  of  a 
shrine,  enclosed,  at  the  edge  of  the  beach,  the  original  spot 
whence  it  was  taken,  the  lower  fragment  of  the  rock,  and  the 
bones  that  a  pious  care  had  recovered  from  the  earliest  burial- 
place  of  the  Pilgrims,  hard  by  on  Cole  Hill.  In  1881,  after  a 
separation  of  one  hundred  and  six  years,  the  upper  half  was 
replaced  iipou  the  lower.  What  God  has  joined  together  let 
no  man  put  asunder  ! 


THE   COURTSHIP   OF   MYLES   STANDISH. 

OF  all  our  New-England  legends,  one  of  the  most  popular,  as 
well  as  one  of  the  most  picturesque,  is  the  story  of  the 
courtship  of  Myles  Standish,  which  is  the  subject  of  Longfellow's 
poem  of  that  name. 

The  action  centres  in  three  persons.  First  there  is  the  mar- 
tial figure  of  the  redoubted  captain  of  Plymouth,  the  rude  but 
tried  soldier,  the  man  of  manly  virtues,  with  all  a  soldier's  con- 
tempt for  courtly  graces,  the  owner  of  a  noble  name  which  he 
had  made  more  illustrious  by  his  deeds,  —  brusque,  quick-tem- 
pered, brave  to  rashness,  but  wearing  the  heart  of  a  lion  in  his 


384 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


little,  undersized  body,  though  his  head  might  sometimes  be  hot 
and  unsteady  in  council,  —  in  sliort,  a  man  to  be  admired,  feared, 
trusted,  but  not,  alas  !  always  loved,  nor  born  to  woo.  Such 
Avas  Myles  Standish,  the  Captain  of  Plymouth.  Though  dis- 
inherited by  fraud,  and  self-exiled,  this  soldier  of  fortune  yet 
possessed  a  title  to  distinction  that  elevates  him  upon  a  pedestal 
above  the  sober  and  industrious  artisans  with  whom  he  had 
loyally  cast  his  lot,  although  it  is  doubtful  if  he  belonged  to 
their  communion. 

To  this  hard  Puritan  soldier,  whose  wife  had  died  during  the 


STANDISH    nOUSE,    DUXBURY. 


first  dreadful  winter  of  tlieir  [)ilgrimage,  enters  the  stripling 
John  Alden,  who  is  asserted  to  be  the  same  person  that  first 
leaped  upon  the  world-renowned  Rock  Avhen  these  exiles  landed 
from  the  "  Mayflower "  on  that  December  day.  He  was  only 
twenty-two ;  but  in  the  eyes  of  two  persons,  at  least,  this  con- 
stituted no  defect.  These  persons  were  Priscilla  Mullins,  the 
Puritan  maiden,  and  Myles  Standish.  One  looked  upon  the 
youth  with  a  smile  ;  the  other  with  a  sigh.  Family  tradition 
makes  this  youth  one  of  Standish's  household  ,  for  in  this  pa- 
triarchal  community,   over  Avhich   the    spirit  of  economy  ruled 


THE   COUKTSHIP    OF   MYLES    STANDISH.  385 

supreme,  the  unmarried  members  were  sagaciously  joined  with 
'  some  family,  both  for  the  sake  of  unity  and  for  the  equal  dis- 
tribution of  Avork  and  gooils.  This  constituted  one  large  family 
divided  into  many.  In  some  sense,  therefore,  Myles  Standish 
was  the  guardian  and  protector  of  Alden,  whom  he  is  said  to 
have  loved  as  his  own  son. 

The  third  person,  completing  the  group,  is  Priscilla,  the  daugh- 
ter of  William  Mullins,  one  of  the  original  Pilgrim  band,  who 
had  died  within  two  months  after  the  landing,  leaving  her 
fatherless.  There  was  only  one  Priscilla,  and  there  were  two 
lovers. 

Eose  Standish,  the  first  wife,  having  died,  as  we  have  said, 
the  Captain  finding  his  loneliness  insupportable,  the  lovely 
Priscilla  found  favor  in  his  eyes,  and  he  therefore  determined  to 
install  her  as  the  mistress  of  his  heart  and  household.  But  this 
liun  in  love,  who  had  so  often  faced  death  without  flinching, 
wanting  courage  to  lay  both  at  a  simple  maiden's  feet  in  his 
own  person,  made  choice  of  John  Alden,  of  all  others,  as  his 
envoy  in  this  delicate  negotiation.  He  unfolded  his  purpose, 
and  gave  his  hopes  into  Alden's  keeping.  How  much  this  dis- 
closure may  have  troubled  the  youth,  being  himself  a  victim  to 
the  fair  Priscilla's  charms,  yet  bound  in  honor  and  gratitude  to 
his  patron,  the  Captain,  is  easily  imagined.  He  had  been  asked 
to  go  and  declare  another  man's  passion  to  the  object  of  his 
own  heart's  desire,  —  to  woo  her  for  another !  How  bitterly 
he  must  have  bewailed  the  weakness  that  had  prevented  his 
speaking  to  her  sooner,  and  had  now  thrust  him  into  this  awk- 
ward dilemma! 

Loyal  still  to  his  friend  and  patron,  though  pursued  all  the 
way  by  these  regrets,  he  took  the  well-known  path  to  Priscilla's 
house,  steeling  himself  for  the  coming  interview.  Being  wel- 
comed, but  ill  at  ease,  he  first  asked  permission  to  urge  the  Cap- 
tain's suit.  The  damsel  was  then  called  into  the  room,  when 
the  young  man  rose  and  delivered  his  errand,  —  at  once  his 
renunciation  and  his  despair.  Knowing  as  we  do  his  feelings, 
we  may  pardon  his  confusion,  as  doubtless  the  keen-eyed  Pris- 
25 


386  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

cilia  dill,  and  we  may  excuse  the  way  in  which  he  stammered 
through  his  speech,  every  syllable  of  which  must  have  blistered 
his  tongue  in  giving  it  utterance. 

We  are  no  true  interpreter  if  the  young  man's  mental  and 
moral  perplexity  is  not  the  key  to  the  blushing  Priscilla's  answer, 
which,  like  a  ray  of  sunshine  piercing  through  a  wintry  cloud, 
instantly  breaking  through  all  restraint,  turned  the  formality  and 
false  sentiment  that  Alden  had  fortified  himself  with,  inconti- 
nently out  of  doors. 

With  a  beating  heart  Priscilla  listened  to  his  plea  for  another. 
He,  poor  wretch !  could  not  disguise  his  real  feelings  from  her, 
worn  as  they  were  upon  his  sleeve ;  and  nobly  did  she  come  to 
the  rescue.  What  a  world  of  archness,  of  tender  chiding,  and 
of  the  love  which  is  so  pure  that  it  knows  no  shame,  is  here 
revealed  ! 

"Prithee,  John,  why  don't  you  speak  for  yourself?" 

The  tradition  says  that  John  left  the  house  without  speaking, 
but  that  the  look  he  gave  Priscilla  spoke  for  him.  We  can  see 
his  dark  figure  striding  homeward  through  the  Plymouth  woods, 
and  we  can  guess  something  of  the  frame  of  mind  in  which  the 
young  man  contemplated  his  approaching  interview  with  the 
wrathful  little  Captain.  It  is  indeed  said  —  and  here  family  tra- 
dition takes  an  issue  with  the  poet  —  that  Myles  Standish  never 
forgave  his  ambassador  to  the  court  of  Hymen  for  thus  supplant- 
ing him  ;  but  it  is  certain  that  the  maiden  herself  poured  bairn 
into  the  wounded  spirit  of  the  youth,  by  giving  her  hand  where 
she  had  already  given  her  heart.  And  from  these  twain  come 
all  of  the  name  of  Alden  in  the  Union. 


So  through  the  Plynioutli  woodw  John  Alden  went  on  his  errand  ; 
Crossing  the  brook  at  the  ford,  wliere  it  l)niwled  over  pebble  and 

shallow, 
Gathering  still,  as  he  went,  the  May-flowers  blooming  around  him, 
Fragrant,  filling  the  air  with  a  strange  and  wonderful  sweetness. 
Children  lost  in  the  woods,  and  covered  with  leaves  in  their  slumber. 
"  Puritan  flowers,"  he  said,  "  and  the  type  of  Puritan  maidens, 


388  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Modest  and  simple  and  sweet,  the  very  type  of  Priscilla  1 
So  I  will  take  them  to  her  ;  to  Priscilla  the  May-flower  of  Plymouth, 
Modest  and  simple  and  sweet,  as  a  parting  gift  will  I  take  them  ; 
Breathing  their  silent  farewells,  as  they  fade  and  wither  and  perish, 
Soon  to  be  thrown  away,  as  is  the  heart  of  the  giver." 

Then,  as  he  opened  the  door,  he  beheld  the  form  of  the  maiden 
Seated  beside  her  wheel,  and  the  carded  wool  like  a  snow-drift 
Piled  at  her  knee,  her  white  hands  feeding  the  ravenous  spindle. 
While  with  her  foot  on  the  treadle  she  guided  the  wheel  in  its  motion. 
Open  wide  on  her  lap  lay  the  well-worn  psalm-book  of  Ainsworth, 
Printed  in  Amsterdam,  the  words  and  the  music  together, 
Eough-hewn,  angular  notes,  like  stones  in  the  wall  of  a  churchyard, 
Darkened  and  overhung  by  the  running  vine  of  the  verses. 

So  he  entered  the  house  :  and  the  hum  of  the  wheel  and  the  singing 
Suddenly  ceased  ;  for  Priscilla,  aroused  by  his  step  on  the  threshold, 
Rose  as  he  entered,  and  gave  him  her  hand,  in  signal  of  welcome, 
Saying,  "  I  knew  it  was  you,  when  I  heard  your  step  in  the  passage  ; 
For  I  was  thinking  of  you,  as  I  sat  there  singing  and  spinning." 

Thus  he  delivered  his  message,  the  dexterous  writer  of  letters,  — 
Did  not  embellish  the  theme,  nor  array  it  in  beautiful  phrases, 
But  came  straight  to  the  point,  and  blurted  it  out  like  a  school-boy  ; 
Even  the  Captain  himself  could  hardly  have  said  it  more  bluntly. 
Mute  with  amazement  and  sorrow,  Priscilla  the  Puritan  maiden 
Looked  into  Alden's  face,  her  eyes  dilated  with  wonder, 
Feeling  his  words  like  a  blow,  that  stunned  her  and  rendered  her 

speechless  ; 
Till  at  length  she  exclaimed,  interrupting  the  ominous  silence  : 
"  If  the  great  Captain  of  Plymouth  is  so  very  eager  to  wed  me, 
Why  does  he  not  come  himself,  and  take  the  trouble  to  woo  me  ? 
If  I  am  not  worth  the  wooing,  I  surely  am  not  worth  the  winning  !  '• 

Still  John  Alden  went  on,  unheeding  the  words  of  Priscilla,  ^ 
Urging  the  suit  of  bis  friend,  explaining,  persuading,  expanding. 

Though  he  was  rough,  he  was  kindly ;  she  knew  how   during  the 
winter 


THE    PILGRIM   FATHERS.  389 

He  had  attended  the  sick,  with  a  hand  as  gentle  as  woman's  ; 
Somewhat  hasty  and  hot,  he  coukl  not  deny  it,  and  headstrong, 
Stern  as  a  soldier  might  be,  but  hearty,  and  placable  always. 
Not  to  be  laughed  at  and  scorned,  because  he  was  little  of  stature  ; 
For  he  was  great  of  heart,  magnanimous,  courtly,  courageous  ; 
Any  woman  in  Plymouth,  nay,  any  woman  in  England, 
Might  be  happy  and  proud  to  be  called  the  wife  of  Miles  Standish  ! 

But  as  he  warmed  and  glowed,  in  his  simple  and  eloquent  language. 
Quite  forgetful  of  self,  and  full  of  the  praise  of  his  rival. 
Archly  the  maiden  smiled,  and,  with  eyes  overrunning  with  laughter, 
Said,  in   a   tremulous   voice,    "  Why   don't  you  speak  for  yourself, 
John  ? " 


THE  PILGRIM   FATHERS. 

Our  fathers  crossed  the  ocean's  wave 

To  seek  this  shore  ; 
They  left  behind  the  coward  slave 
To  welter  in  his  living  grave. 
With  hearts  unbent  and  spirits  brave, 

They  sternly  bore 
Such  toils  as  meaner  souls  had  quelled  ; 
But  souls  like  these  such  toils  impelled 

To  soar. 

Percival. 


The  Pilgrim  spirit  has  not  fled  : 

It  walks  in  noon's  broad  light  ; 
And  it  watches  the  bed  of  the  glorious  dead, 

With  the  holy  stars,  by  night. 
It  Avatches  the  bed  of  the  brave  who  have  bled, 

And  shall  guard  this  ice-bound  shore, 
Till  the  waves  of  the  Bay  where  the  "  Mayflower  "  lay 

Shall  foam  and  freeze  no  more. 

PlERPONT. 


390,  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

Ay,  call  it  holy  ground, 

The  soil  where  first  they  trod  ; 

They  have  left  unstained  what  there  they  found, 
Freedom  to  worship  God  ! 

Hemaxs. 


And  never  may  they  rest  unsung, 
While  Liberty  can  find  a  tongue  ! 
Twine,  Gratitude,  a  wreath  for  them 
More  deathless  than  the  diadem, 

Who  to  life's  noblest  end 
Gave  up  life's  noblest  powers, 

And  bade  the  legacy  descend 
Down,  down  to  us  and  ours. 

Sprague, 


RHODE-ISLAND    LEGENDS. 


THE   SKELETON   IN   ARMOR. 

LONGFELLOW'S  ballad  of  "The  Skeleton  in  Armor"  is  the 
legitimate  product  of  one  of  those  obscure  traditions  which, 
throu-h°frequent  repetition,  acquire  all  the  consistency  of  au- 
thentk;  facts ;  yet,  like  other  illusions,  disappear  as  soon  as  the 
Ught  is  turned  on  them.  In  this  case  the  Scandinavian  tradition 
recounts  the  adventurous  voyages  of  the  two  Norse  corsairs,  Leif 
and  Thorwald,  t(^  the  New  World  as  early  as  a.  d.  1000.  They 
are  said  to  have  sailed  from  Iceland,  and  to  have  passed  a  winter 
in  New  England. 

The  terms  of  these  sagas  are  so  ambiguous,  even  should  they 
be  accounted  true  relations,  as  to  render  any  serious  attempt  to 
trace  the  voyages  they  narrate,  with  the  purpose  of  fitting  them 
to  our  own  coasts  or  harbors,  a  lost  labor.  That  Danish  antiqua- 
ries would  be  deeply  interested  in  establishing  the  validity  of  the 
claim  on  the  part  of  their  countrymen  to  a  discovery  preceding 
by  nearly  five  centuries  that  of  Columbus,  was  only  natural ;  for 
should  they  succeed  it  would  prove  the  most  brilliant  jewel  in 
the  crown  of  their  nation.  The  relations  themselves,  however, 
amounted  to  little  ;  and  without  stronger  evidence  the  reputable 
historian  would  probably  content  himself  merely  with  mention- 
ing them.  He  would  certainly  hesitate  long,  and  examine  criti- 
cally, before  instaUing  the  vague  and  the  veritable  side  by  side.^ 


394 


NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 


Should  he  positively  declare  America  to  have  been  discovered  by 
the  Northmen  in  the  year  1000,  he  must  first  withdraw  the 
assertion  made  in  favor  of  the  illustrious  Genoese  to  a  discovery 
in  1492. 

Several  things  contributed  to  produce  in  the  public  mind  an 
effect  favorable  to  the  Scandinavian  claim.     The  most  important 


OLD   WINDMILL,    NF.WPOKT. 


of  these  were  the  alleged  evidences  then  existing  of  an  occupa- 
tion of  the  country  by  the  Norse  voyagers  in  question.  Let  us 
run  over  them. 

There  was,  and  still  is,  at  Newport,  in  Rhode  Island,  an  old 
windmill  of  pciculiar,  and  for  New  England  unique,  construc- 
tion, which  Time  has  left  a  picturesque  ruin.  The  main  struc- 
ture, being  of  stone,  presents  the  appearance  of  a  round  tower 


THE    SKELETON    IN    ARMOR.  395 

thirty  feet  high,  supported  by  massive  stone  columixs,  also  round  ; 
for  the  woodwork  having  fallen  away,  nothing  but  the  bare  walls 
remain  to  identify  its  original  form  or  purpose.  It  stands  on  the 
heights  overlooking  the  harbor ;  and  until  Time's  changes  hid  it 
from  view,  was  always  a  conspicuous  object  when  the  city  was 
appi'oached  from  the  sea.  This  structure  had  been  so  long  un- 
used, that  little  importance  need  be  attached  to  the  fact  that  the 
purpose  for  which  it  was  originally  built  had  gradually  died  out 
of  the  memory  of  the  oldest  inhabitant.  The  natural  growth 
of  the  town  was  certain  in  time  to  bring  this  result  about.  Its 
proper  functions  then  having  so  long  ceased,  no  one  regarded  it 
except  with  a  feeble  curiosity,  nor  was  there  even  a  local  tradi- 
tion concerning  it.  For  a  century  and  a  half  it  had  stood  on 
the  same  spot  without  a  question  arising  as  to  its  origin  ;  it 
was  completely  ignored.  But  at  length  some  one  discovered  a 
resemblance  to  Scandinavian  architecture.  The  Danish  savans 
at  once  claimed  the  windmill  as  the  work  of  their  countrymen 
centuries  before  the  arrival  of  the  English. 

There  was  also  on  the  shore  of  Taunton  River,  —  a  tidal 
stream  that  flows  into  Narragansett  Bay,  and  might  therefore 
be  easily  ascended  by  an  exploring  vessel,  —  a  moderately  large 
bowlder,  one  face  of  which,  being  smooth,  was  completely  covered 
with  mysterious  hieroglyphics  which  no  one  had  been  able  to 
decipher.  The  strange  characters  had  originally  been  deeply 
cut  into  the  perpendicular  face  toward  the  channel ;  but  in  the 
course  of  years,  and  owing  to  the  rock  itself  being  partly  sub- 
merged at  high  tide,  the  continual  abrasion  of  water  and  ice  has 
nearly  obliterated  them ;  so  that  it  is  now  scarcely  possible  to 
identify  these  marks  as  the  work  of  human  hands.  The  bowlder 
received  the  name  of  Dighton  Rock  because  the  shore  where  it  lay 
imbedded  was  within  the  limits  of  the  town  of  Dighton.  Here 
now  was  a  veritable  relic  of  antiquity.  Unlike  the  windmill, 
this  had  always  been  the  subject  of  eager  curiosity  and  discus- 
sion, —  so  much  so,  that  copies  of  the  inscription  had  been 
transmitted  by  Cotton  Mather  to  the  learned  societies  of  London 
as  a  worthy  and  valuable  contribution  to  the  purposes  and  aims 


396  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

of  archseological  research  ;  while  the  windmill,  notwithstanding 
its  alleged  peculiarity  of  construction,  and  the  clear  presumption 
that  it  must  have  been  a  most  poignant  spur  to  curiosity,  as  prov- 
ing the  residence  here  of  Europeans  so  long  ago,  was  not  thought 
to  be  worthy  of  a  single  word,  and  no  one  of  the  thousands  to 
whom  it  was  a  familiar  object  so  much  as  hinted  that  it  had  any 
title  to  such  consideration.  The  sculptured  rock  remained,  how- 
ever, an  unsolved  enigma.  A  vague  local  tradition  only  ren- 
dered it  all  the  more  perplexing.  It  is  true  that  many  who 
Avere  acquainted  with  their  rude  commemorative  drawings, 
which  those  of  the  rock  greatly  resembled,  believed  that  the 
Indians  had  at  some  time  cut  the  unknown  characters.  This 
very  natural  solution  of  the  mystery  became  the  subject  of  con- 
troversy. The  Danish  antiquaries,  better  instructed,  immedi- 
ately declared  Dighton  Rock  to  be  the  imperishable  record  of 
the  adventurous  voyages  of  their  countrymen. 

Still  another  thing,  most  opportunely  occurring,  by  investing 
it  with  the  glamour  of  romance,  secured  for  the  new  theory  a 
certain  amount  of  sympathy,  —  thus  giving  it  a  strength  of  a 
wholly  diffei'ent  kind  in  the  popular  mind.  Hitherto  the  new 
idea  had  taken  less  with  the  general  public  than  with  scholars ; 
the  materials  were  now  found  for  a  veritable  coup  de  thedtre. 

There  was  exhumed  at  Fall  River  the  skeleton  of  a  man 
whose  breast  —  whether  for  ornament  or  defence  is  uncertain  — 
was  protected  by  an  oval  plate  of  brass,  and  on  whose  flesh  less 
thighs  still  loosely  hung  a  belt  of  curious  workmanship,  made  of 
hollow  tubes  of  brass  much  corroded,  and  fitted  together  in  the 
manner  of  the  bandoliers  worn  when  firearms  were  in  their  in- 
fancy. There  were  also  found  lying  near  the  skeleton  some 
arrow-heads  made  of  the  same  metal.  It  is  true  that  the  body 
had  been  buried  in  a  sitting  posture,  with  its  arms  and  orna- 
ments, agreeable  to  the  funeral  customs  of  the  Indians  of  this 
coast.  It  is  also  true  that  from  the  voyages  of  the  Cabots  down 
to  the  coming  in  of  the  English  settlers  here,  the  possession  of 
copper  ornaments,  and  even  weapons  of  war,  by  the  Indians,  was 
a  fact  constantly  repeated.     Even  the  chains  and  collars,  one  of 


THE    SKELETON    IN    AEMOR. 


397 


which  was  worn  by  the  skeleton,  liad  been  exactly  and  minutely 
described  in  some  of  the  Eelations  printed  by  Hakluyt.  But 
the  sagas  had  said  that  Thorwald,  the  Norse  rover-chief,  was 
slain  in  an  encounter  with  the  natives,  and  had  been  hastily 
interred  near  the  spot  where  he  fell.  The  breastplate  and 
arrows  were  said  to  be  identical  with  those  in  use  among  the 
Scandinavians  of  this  ancient 
period.  To  the  silent  evi- 
dence of  the  mill  and  to  the 
testimony  of  the  rock  was 
now  joined  that  of  a  supposed 
Norse  warrior  in  his  armor. 
The  Danish  scholars  unhesi- 
tatingly adopted  the  skeleton. 
The  case  as  it  now  stood 
may  be  briefly  summed  up 
thus.  A  building  said  to  be 
of  a  construction  similar  to  the 
most  ancient  ones  in  the  Scan- 
dinavian   peninsula, — in  fact 

not  dating  later  than  the  twelfth  century,  — certainly  unlike  any- 
thing of  British  architecture,  had  been  found ;  a  rock  inscribed 
with  Runic  characters,  —  for  the  Danish  scholars  claimed  to 
decipher  portions  of  its  inscription,  —  had  been  discovered ;  a 
skeleton  wearing  armor  of  the  kind  used  by  Norse  warriors  had 
been  disinterred,  —  and  these  things  existed  within  such  neigh- 
borhood to  each  other  as  to  constitute  a  chain  of  evidence  strong 
in  itself,  strengthened  by  probability,  and  further  supported  by 
the  very  general  feeling  in  its  favor,  that  they  were  the  work 
or  the  remains  of  the  adventurous  sea-rovers  of  the  North.  To 
such  an  array,  presented  with  such  authority  and  with  so  much 
confidence,  it  is  no  wonder  that  the  sceptical  at  first  hardly 
knew  what  to  answer. 

But  each  and  every  one  of  these  pieces  of  evidence  has  been 
fully  disproved.  It  has  been  shown  that  the  Newport  Mill  was 
of  a  similar  build  to  those  erected  in  some  parts  of  England,  — 


THE    SKELETON   IN   ARMOR. 


398  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

notably  like  one  at  Chesterton.  The  settlers,  therefore,  built  after 
known  British  models.  The  attempt  to  convert  the  characters 
of  Dighton  Rock  into  Runic,  or  even  into  an  intelligible  historic 
record  of  any  kind,  signally  failed  to  convince  either  learned 
or  unlearned.  And  lastly,  the'  metal  found  upon  the  skeleton 
turned  out  to  be  different  from  that  used  for  warlike  purposes 
by  the  ancient  Scandinavians.  To  this  the  direct  evidence  that 
a  windmill  was  erected  on  the  very  spot  where  the  ruin  now 
stands ;  that  Governor  Arnold  mentions  it  in  his  will ;  that  the 
way  leading  to  it  is  still  called  Mill  Street ;  and  that  it  was 
commonly  known  as  a  windmill  and  nothing  else,  —  would  seem 
finally  to  dispose  of  what  was  left  of  the  Northmen's  antique 
tower,  and  to  leave  it  the  simple  and  striking  memorial  of  the 
forefathers  that  it  undoubtedly  is.  This  whole  controversy  may 
be  said  signally  to  demonstrate  the  ease  with  which  any  histori- 
cal fact  may  be  perverted  or  unsettled. 

In  a  note  to  his  "  Skeleton  in  Armor,"  Mr.  Longfellow  says 
that  he  considers  the  tradition  sufficiently  established  for  the 
purpose  of  a  ballad.  Voila  tout!  But  he  very  naively  adds 
what  few  will  now  be  found  willing  to  dispute,  that,  "doubtless 
many  an  honest  citizen  of  Newport,  wlio  has  passed  his  days 
within  sight  of  the  round  tower,  will  be  ready  to  exclaim,  with 
Sancho  :  'God  bless  me!  did  I  not  warn  you  to  have  a  care  what 
you  were  doing,  for  that  it  was  nothing  but  a  windmill ;  and  no- 
body could  mistake  it  but  one  who  had  the  like  in  his  head.' " 

In  the  ballad  the  Viking's  ghost  is  supposed  to  appear  to  the 
poet,  and  is  exhorted  to  tell  him  his  story.  One  instinctively 
recalls  Hamlet's  midnight  colloquy  on  tlie  platform  of  the  castle 
at  Elsinorc :  — 

Speak  !  speak  !  thou  fearful  guest  ! 

Who,  with  thy  hollow  breast 

Still  in  rude  armor  diest, 
Comest  to  daunt  me  ! 

Wrapt  not  in  Eastern  balms, 

But  with  thy  fleshless  palms 

Stretched,  as  if  asking  alms, 
Why  dost  thou  haunt  me  1 


THE    SKELETON    IN    AKMOK.  399 

And  the  grisly  corse  replies  :  — 

I  was  a  Viking  old  ! 

My  deeds,  though  manifold, 

No  Skald  in  song  has  told, 

No  Saga  taught  thee  ! 
Take  heed,  that  in  thy  verse 
Thou  dost  the  tale  rehearse. 
Else  dread  a  dead  man's  curse  ; 

For  this  I  sought  thee. 

The  weird  tale  proceeds  without  further  regard  to  the  legend 
as  it  is  told  in  the  sagas.  The  rude  corsair  wins  the  love  of  a 
gentle  maiden, — a  prince's  child, — somewhat  in  the  manner  of 
Othello,  by  telling  her  the  story  of  his  deeds  :  — 

Once  as  I  told  in  glee 
Tales  of  the  stormy  sea, 
Soft  eyes  did  gaze  on  me, 

Burning  yet  tender  ; 
And  as  the  white  stars  shine 
On  the  dark  Norway  pine, 
On  that  dark  heart  of  mine 

Fell  their  full  splendor. 

Then  the  Viking,  having  persuaded  the  old  Hildehrand's 
daughter  to  fly  with  him,  is  hotly  pursued  by  the  incensed 
fatlier  "  with  seventy  horsemen."  He  puts  to  sea  in  his  vessel, 
and  is  followed  by  Hildebrand  in  another,  when  the  catastrophe 
that  makes  him  an  outcast  occurs  :  — 

And  as  to  catch  the  gale 
Round  veered  the  flapping  sail, 
Death  !  was  the  helmsman's  hail, 

Death  without  quarter ! 
Mid-ships  with  iron  keel 
Struck  we  her  ribs  of  steel  ; 
Down  her  black  hulk  did  reel 

Through  the  black  water  ! 


400  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

After  this  the  outlaw  who  has  carried  off  the  daughter,  and 
has  slain  the  father  before  her  eyes,  steers  into  the  open  and 
unknown  sea.  The  stanza  introducing  the  round  tower  is  as 
follows  :  — 

Three  weeks  we  westward  hore  ; 
And  when  the  storm  was  o'er, 
Cloud-like,  we  saw  the  shore 

Stretching  to  leeward  ; 
There  for  my  lady's  bower 
Built  I  the  lofty  tower 
Which,  to  this  very  hour. 
Stands  looking  seaward. 

Here  the  hawk  and  the  dove  dwelt  until  a  child  was  born  to 
them  ;  but  the  maiden  sickened ;  and  at  length,  as  the  ballad 
tells  us, — 

D,eath  closed  her  mild  blue  eyes  : 
Under  that  tower  she  lies  ; 
Ne'er  shall  the  sun  arise 
On  such  another ! 

In  despair,  the  Viking  puts  on  his  armor  and  fiills  upon  his 
spear,  —  the  poet  thus  accounting  for  the  skeleton  in  armor  by  a 
stroke  of  genius,  as  he  does  for  the  tower  by  a  touch  of  human- 
ity ;  so  that  it  is  not  strange  to  find  people  saying  they  would 
rather  believe  in  the  legend  than  not. 

But  Mr.  Longfellow  was  not  the  first  poet  to  discover  the  capa- 
bilities of  the  old  mill  for  a  poem.  The  poet  Brainard  makes  it 
tlie  subject  of  an  Indian  tradition  to  the  effect  that  its  perishing 
walls  were  typical  of  the  gradual  disappearance  of  the  lied  Man 
in  the  home  of  his  f^ithers,  and  that  its  final  fall  would  signal- 
ize the  total  extinction  of  his  race.  His  is  the  earliest  poetical 
use  of  the  tower  that  the  Avriter  has  seen. 


THE   NEWPORT    TOWER.  .401 

THE   NEWPOET   TOWER. 

J.    G.    BRAINARD. 

There  is  a  rude  old  laonument, 
Half  masonry,  half  ruin,  bent 
With  sagging  weight,  as  if  it  meant 

To  warn  one  of  mischance  ; 
And  an  old  Indian  may  be  seen 
Musing  in  sadness  on  the  scene, 
And  casting  on  it  many  a  keen 

And  many  a  thoughtful  glance. 

When  lightly  sweeps  the  evening  tide 
Old  Narragansett's  shore  beside, 
And  the  canoes  in  safety  ride 

Upon  the  lovely  bay,  — 
I  've  seen  him  gaze  on  that  old  tower, 
At  evening's  calm  and  pensive  hour  ; 
And  when  the  niglit  began  to  lower, 

Scarce  tear  himself  away. 

But  once  he  turned  with  furious  look. 
While  high  his  clenched  hand  he  shook, 
And  from  his  brow  his  dark  eye  took 

A  reddening  glow  of  madness  ; 
Yet  when  I  told  him  why  I  came, 
His  wild  and  bloodshot  eye  grew  tame. 
And  bitter  thoughts  passed  o'er  its  flame 

That  changed  its  rage  to  sadness. 

"  You  watch  my  step,  and  ask  me  why 
This  ruin  fills  my  straining  eye. 
Stranger,  there  is  a  prophecy 

Which  you  may  lightly  heed  : 
Stay  its  fulfilment  if  you  can  : 
I  heard  it  of  a  gray-haired  man ; 
And  thus  the  threatening  story  ran,  — 

A  bodmg  tale  indeed. 


402  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

"  He  paid  that  when  this  massy  wall 
Down  to  its  very  base  should  fall, 
And  not  one  stone  among  it  all 

Be  left  upon  another. 
Then  should  the  Indian  race  and  kind 
Disperse  like  the  returnless  wind, 
And  no  red  man  be  left  to  find 

One  he  could  call  a  brother. 

"  Now  yon  old  tower  is  falling  fast : 
Kindred  and  friends  away  are  passed  ; 
Oh  !  that  my  father's  soul  may  cast 

Upon  my  grave  its  shade, 
When  some  good  Christian  man  shall  jjlace 
O'er  me,  the  last  of  all  my  race, 
The  last  old  stone  that  falls,  to  grace 

The  spot  where  1  am  laid  ! " 

Mrs.  Sigourney,  following  Longfellow,  has  also  addressed  some 
characteristic  lines  to  its  gray  walls  in  a  half  serious,  half  play- 
ful vein.  She,  too,  Relieved  it  to  be  a  veritable  relic  of  the 
Northmen.  But  the  poets,  it  should  be  said,  are  much  too  sus- 
ceptible to  the  charm  of  romance  to  be  intrusted  with  making 
history. 

THE  NEWPORT   TOWER. 

MRS.    L.    H.    SIGOURNEY. 

Dark,  lonely  Tower,  amid  yon  Eden-isle, 
Which,  as  a  gem,  fair  Xarragansett  wears 
Upon  her  heaving  breast,  thou  lift'st  thy  head, 
A  mystery  and  paradox,  to  mock 
The  curious  throng. 

Say,  reared  the  plundering  hand 
Of  the  fierce  buccaneer  thy  massy  walls, 
A  treasure-fortress  for  his  blood-stained  gold  ? 
Or  wrought  the  beings  of  an  earlier  race 
To  form  thy  circle,  while  in  wonder  gazed 
The  painted  Indian  ? 


BLOCK    ISLAND.  403 

We  see  thou  art 
A  right  substantial,  well-^jresevved  old  tower,  — 
Let  that  suffice  us. 

Some  there  are  who  say 
Thou  wert  an  ancient  windmill. 

Be  it  so  ! 
Our  Pilgrim-sires  must  have  been  much  in  love 
With  extra  labor,  thus  to  gather  stones, 
And  patient  rear  thy  Scandinavian  arch, 
And  build  thine  ample  chamber,  and  uplift 
Thy  shapely  column,  for  the  gadding  winds 
To  play  vagaries  with. 

In  those  hard  times 
I  trow  King  Philip  gave  them  other  work 
Than  to  deck  dancing-halls,  and  lure  the  blasts 
From  old  Eolus'  cave. 

Had'st  thou  the  power, 
I  think  thou'dst  laugh  right  heartily  to  see 
The  worthy  farmers,  with  their  sacks  of  corn, 
Mistaking  thy  profession,  as  of  old 
Don  Quixote  did  mistake  thine  ancestor,  — 
If  haply  such  progenitor  thou  hadst. 


BLOCK     ISLAND. 

THE  introduction  to  Dana's  celebrated  narrative  poem, 
"  The  Buccaneer,"  is  a  beautiful  piece  of  descriptive  writ- 
ing, that  stands  out  in  strong  relief  against  the  dark  legend  upon 
which  it  casts  a  solitary  ray  of  sunshine. 

THE    ISLAND. 

The  island  lies  nine  leagues  away. 

Along  its  solitary  shore, 
Of  craggy  rock  and  sandy  bay, 
No  sound  but  ocean's  roar, 
Save  where  the  bold,  wild  sea-bird  makes  her  home, 
Her  shrill  cry  coming  through  the  sparkling  foam. 


404  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

But  when  the  light  winds  lie  at  rest, 

And  on  the  glassy,  heaving  sea. 
The  black  duck,  with  her  glossy  breast, 
Sits  swinging  silently, 
How  beautiful !     No  ripples  break  the  reach, 
And  silvery  waves  go  noiseless  up  the  beach. 

And  inland  rests  the  green,  warm  dell ; 

The  brook  comes  tinkling  down  its  side  ; 
From  out  the  trees  the  Sabbath  bell 
Rings  cheerful,  far  and  wide, 
Mingling  its  sounds  with  bleatings  of  the  flocks 
That  feed  about  the  vale  amongst  the  rocks. 

Nor  holy  bell  nor  pastoral  bleat 

In  former  days  within  the  vale  ; 
Flapped  in  the  bay  the  pirate's  sheet ; 
Curses  were  on  the  gale  ; 
Rich  goods  lay  on  the  sand,  and  murdered  men  : 
Pirate  and  wrecker  kept  their  revels  then. 

The  island  merits  a  further  word  of  description.  It  is  a  bank 
of  clay,  treeless  and  wind-swept,  eight  miles  long,  rising  out  of 
the  ocean  between  Montauk  and  Gay  Head,  and  lying  nearest 
to  Point  Judith,  on  the  Ehode-Island  shore,  from  which  it  is 
about  five  miles  distant.  Planted,  as  it  is,  right  athwart  the 
highway  of  a  vast  and  increasing  commerce,  it  is  a  veritable 
stumbling-block  in  the  way  of  the  anxious  navigator.  In  clear 
weather  its  brilliant  light  cheers  the  grateful  mariner  on  his 
voyage  with  its  signal  of  "  All 's  well,  and  a  fine  night !  "  till 
it  sinks  or  fades  from  his  view. 

We  know  that  a  tribe  of  the  once  powerful  and  warlike  Nar- 
ragansetts  possessed  and  inhabited  this  sea-girt  isle,  to  which 
their  fathers  gave  the  euphonious  name  of  Manisses.  But  pow- 
erful and  warlike  as  they  were,  they  were  also  a  race  of  plunder- 
ers, having  the  lawless  traits  common  to  islanders  everywhere ; 
so  that,  as  early  as  the  infancy  of  the  white  settlements  in  Mass- 
achusetts Bay,  their  thieving  propensities  brought  down  upon 


BLOCK    ISLAND. 


405 


them  the  vengeance  of  the  whites,  who  made  an  armed  descent 
upon  the  island  with  the  sanguinary  purpose  of  exterminating 
every  warrior  upon  it.  Before  the  wars,  of  which  tins  is  a  mere 
episode,  were  over,  the  island  passed  forever  from  the  ownership 
of  these  Indians,  who  had  fled  from  it  in  terror,  into  that  of  their 
enemies,  —  first  taking  a  civilized  name  from  the  Dutch  sailor 


ANCIENT   WINDIIILL. 


Adrian  Block,  and  subsequently  that  of  Is"ew  Shoreham,  which 
the  township  still  retains. 

Then  began  the  gradual  peopling  of  the  island  under  the  rule 
of  a  new  race,  and  a  development,  sometimes  checked  by  the 
wars,  but  tending  slowly  toward  an  improved  condition.  It 
being  first  available  for  pasturage,  the  islanders  were  mostly  far- 
mers°  who  raised  cattle,  sheep,  and  poultry,  which  they  exported 
to  the  mainland.     Tillage  gradually  superseded  this.     The  farms 


406  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

are  still  productive,  and  the  inhabitants,  contrary  to  the  general 
belief,  get  their  living  chiefly  by  the  soil. 

Those  who  were  not  farmers  were  fishermen.  The  seas  around 
the  island  teemed  with  the  cod,  the  mackerel,  and  the  blue  hsh, 
besides  other  valuable  species,  —  thus  furnishing  subsistence  to 
another  class,  who  toiled  with  net  and  line,  and  who  built  their 
rude  cabins  and  flakes  by  the  shore.  But  the  island  having  no 
good  harbor,  fishing  and  trading  went  on  by  boats  in  the  old 
primitive  way. 

Somehow,  the  reputation  of  the  island  was  never  good.  Sail- 
ors always  shook  their  heads  when  they  spoke  of  Block  Island. 
A  bad  lee  shore,  a  place  of  no  good  hap  for  the  unlucky  mariner 
who  might  be  driven  upon  it,  were  prevailing  notions,  —  and 
firmly  rooted  ones,  —  which  dark  hints,  and  still  darker  tradi- 
tions, concerning  shipwrecked  crews  and  valuable  cargoes,  give 
a  certain  color  and  consistency.  "  I  would  rather  be  wrecked 
anywhere  than  upon  Block  Island,"  became  a  common  and  sig- 
nificant saying  in  the  forecastle  or  the  midnight  watch,  when 
the  dark  mass  of  the  island  heaved  in  sight.  But  all  this  refers 
to  long  ago  ;  for  though  there  are  still  wreckers,  —  and  they  are 
universally  held  by  sailors  to  be  but  one  remove  from  pirates,  — 
their  work  now  proceeds  with  some  regard  for  the  saving  of  life 
and  the  lawful  claims  of  the  owners.  In  "  the  good  old  times  " 
the  wreckers  stripped  a  ship,  and  divided  her  cargo  upon  the 
principle  that  to  the  finders  belongs  the  spoil.  "  Everything  is 
fish,"  said  they,  "that  comes  to  our  net." 

Like  all  islanders,  these  people  were  generally  hardy,  sober, 
and  industrious.  But  a  difference  is  to  be  observed  between  the 
farmers  and  the  fishermen, — a  name  often  synonymous  witli 
that  of  wreckers  or  smugglers.  So  isolated  were  they  from  the 
rest  of  the  world,  that  the  intermarriage  of  those  more  or  less 
related  by  blood  was  a  thing  of  conuiiou  occurrence.  The 
result  was  naturally  unfavorable  to  the  physical  condition  of 
the  islanders.  Indeed,  one  instance  is  mentioned  of  a  woman 
who  left  three  deaf-and-dumb  sons  at  her  death. 

Dana's    "Buccaneers"   and  Whittier's    "Palatine"    are   the 


BLOCK   ISLAND.  407 

legitimate  outcome  of  a  state  of  things  which  so  naturally 
affords  materials  for  romance ;  and  both  are  also  the  outgrowth 
of  a  singular  legend,  whose  very  obscurity  lends  it  a  weird 
fascination. 

Some  time  during  the  last  century  —  even  the  year  is  uncer- 
tain —  an  emigrant  ship  bound  for  Philadelphia  came  upon  the 
American  coast,  only  to  be  driven  off  to  sea  again  by  stress  of 
weather.  The  emigrants  were  substantial  and  thrifty  Dutch 
people  of  the  better  class,  who  had  brought  all  their  property 
along  with  them  to  their  new  home,  whither  many  of  their  coun- 
trymen had  preceded  them.  Some  of  them  are  even  alleged 
to  have  been  wealthy.  It  was  in  the  dark  and  dreary  season 
of  midwinter,  when  the  voyage,  already  long,  was  thus  disas- 
trously lengthened.  With  the  coast  in  sight,  but  unable  to  gain 
her  port,  the  ship,  buffeting  the  frozen  seas,  was  driven  north- 
ward far  out  of  her  course  ;  while  scenes  were  being  enacted  on 
board,  the'  bare  thought  of  which  makes  the  blood  run  cold. 
The  captain  had  died,  or  had  been  murdered,  at  sea,  before  the 
vessel  came  in  sight  of  the  land.  All  discipline  was  at  an  end  ; 
and  the  ship's  crew  then  began  a  system  of  cold-bloo.ded  rob- 
bery, to  which  the  act  of  boldly  hoisting  the  black  flag  and 
of  cutting  the  throats  of  their  miserable  victims  would  have 
been  mercy  indeed.  The  wretches  armed  themselves ;  and 
having  taken  possession  of  the  water  and  provisions,  with  a 
refined  cruelty  demanded  from  the  famishing  emigrants  twenty 
guilders  for  a  cup  of  water,  and  fifty  rix-dollars  for  a  biscuit. 
To  save  their  lives  the  poor  passengers  were  obliged  to  beggar 
themselves.  Those  who  could  not  or  would  not  comply  with 
the  atrocious  demand  were  allowed  to  starve,  and  their  ema- 
ciated bodies  were  coolly  thrown  into  the  sea.  The  ship  soon 
became  a  floating  hell.  Having  plundered  their  victims  of 
everything  that  they  possessed  of  value,  the  inhuman  crew 
finally  took  to  the  boats ;  and  deserting  the  stricken  ship,  they 
left  her  to  the  mercy  of  the  winds  and  waves.  With  no  one 
left  on  board  to  navigate  her,  the  doomed  ship  drifted  on. 
Days  of  despair  were  succeeded  by  nights  of  horror.     She  was 


408  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

now  a  madhouse,  tenanted  only  by  maniacs  or  the  unburied 
corpses  of  those  who  had  died  from  famine  or  disease. 

One  calm  Sabbath  morning  the  "Palatine"  struck  on  the  north- 
ernmost reef  of  Block  Island.  But  her  voyage  was  not  to  end 
here.  The  wreckers  manned  their  boats  and  humanely  rescued 
all  those  who  had  survived  starvation,  except  one  woman,  who 
had  gone  stark  mad,  and  who  now  refused  to  leave  the  wreck. 

The  ship,  having  only  touched  the  reef,  floated  off  again  with 
the  rising  tide  ;  and  the  wreckers,  who  surrounded  the  grimy  hulk 
like  vultures  the  carcass  of  a  noble  stag,  now  making  their  boats 
fast  to  it,  towed  her  into  a  neighboring  cove,  in  order  that  they 
might  dismantle  her  at  their  leisure.  But  before  this  could  be 
done  a  gale  sprang  up ;  Avhen  the  Avreckers,  seeing  that  the  ship, 
in  spite  of  their  efforts,  Avould  be  blown  off  to  sea,  set  her  on 
fire ;  and  she  was  soon  in  flames. 

Enveloped  in  fire  from  truck  to  deck,  the  "  Palatine  "  drove  out 
into  the  thickening  darkness  of  a  stormy  sea, —  an  object  of  dread 
even  to  those  who  had  so  recklessly  applied  the  torch.  But  this 
feeling  was  turned  to  deeper  horror  when  the  frenzied  shrieks 
borne  to-  their  ears  from  the  burning  ship  told  the  lookers-on 
that  a  human  being  was  perishing  miserably  in  the  flames  before 
their  eyes. 

These  appalling  sounds  were  supposed  to  proceed  from  the 
maniac  woman,  who  had  been  forgotten  in  the  excitement  of 
the  moment.  The  "  Palatine  "  drifted  away,  and  burned  to 
the  water's  edge.  And  so  ends  the  dismal  tale  of  the  actual 
ship. 

But  it  is  now  averred  that  on  that  very  night  twelvemonth, 
the  anniversary  of  the  same  storm,  the  islanders  Avere  affrighted 
by  the  startling  and  sublime  spectacle  of  a  ship  on  fire  in  the  off- 
ing, which,  as  the  gale  rose,  drifted  before  it,  and  gradually  faded 
from  their  sight,  exactly  as  the  ill-fated  "Palatine"  had  done. 
Year  after  year  the  same  strange  sight  continued  to  keep  the  fate 
of  the  "  Palatine  "  fresh  in  the  memory  of  every  man,  woman,  and 
child  upon  the  island.  Hundreds  had  seen  it ;  and  all  were  fully 
convinced  that  this  annual  visitation  was  a  portent  of  disaster  to 


THE   BUCCANEER.  409 

them  and  theirs.  Some  of  the  better-informed  were,  it  is  true, 
inclined  to  class  the  phantasm  of  the  burning  ship  with  atmos- 
pheric phenomena ;  but  the  islanders  only  shrugged  their  shoul- 
ders as  they  pointed  to  the  unerring  certainty  with  which  it 
reappeared,  the  faithfulness  with  which  every  detail  of  the  con- 
flagration repeated  itself,  and  the  mysterious  way  in  which  the 
vessel  first  came  on  shore. 

THE  BUCCAJ^EER. 

Dana's  tragic  story  of  the  "Euccaneer"  would  hardly  be 
recognized  for  the  same  that  we  have  related,  were  not  its 
leading  incidents  firmly  associated  with  Block  Island.  He 
makes  Lee,  the  "buccaneer"  of  the  poem,  native  here.  Lee  is 
a  man  fitted  by  nature  for  leadership  in  a  career  of  crime,  —  a 
monster  from  whom  we  turn  in  abhorrence,  and  for  whose  evil 
destiny  even  the  poet's  art  can  hardly  make  us  feel  one  touch  of 
compassion.  The  grandeur  of  the  design  of  the  poem  is  in  fact 
marred  by  the  hideousness  of  the  central  figure.  Lee  is  a  wretch 
without  one  redeeming  trait,  —  he  is  simply  a  cut-throat. 

The  poem  opens  with  Lee's  ship  lying  in  a  port  of  Spain.  He 
has  grown  weary  of  the  life  of  a  peaceful  trader,  and  has  re- 
solved to  turn  pirate.  Wliile  the  vessel  is  being  refitted  for  sea 
a  Spanish  lady  seeks  a  passage  in  her  to  America.  Her  husband 
has  fallen  in  the  wars,  and  she  is  scarcely  wedded  before  she  is 
a  widow  and  an  exile  from  her  native  land.  Lee  receives  her 
with  well-affected  sympathy,  and  tenders  her  a  passage  in  his- 
ship.  The  bereaved  lady  unsuspectingly  puts  herself,  her  at- 
tendants, and  all  that  she  possesses  in  the  corsair's  power.  Her 
rich  jewels  and  her  gold  inflame  the  rapacity  of  Lee, — who, 
however,  is  crafty  enough  to  bide  his  time.  The  Senora  has  a 
strange  attachment  for  a  favorite  milk-white  Arabian  horse  :  this 
too  is  brought  on  board,  and  then  the  ship  sets  sail.  She  is 
no  sooner  out  of  sight  of  land,  than  the  crew,  at  a  signal  from 
Lee,  stab  the  lady's  servants  in  their  sleep.  They  then,  with. 
a  deadlier  purpose,  break  into  her  cabin  :  — 


410  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

A  crash !     They  force  the  door  ;  and  then 

One  long,  long,  shrill,  and  piercing  scream 
Comes  thrilling  bove  the  growl  of  men  ! 
'T  is  hers  !  O  God,  redeem 
From  worse  than  death  thy  suffering,  helpless  child  ! 
That  dreadful  shriek  again,  —  sharp,  sharp  and  wild  ! 

It  ceased  :  with  speed  o'  th'  lightning's  flash 
A  loose-robed  form,  with  streaming  hair. 
Shoots  by  ;  a  leap,  —  a  quick,  short  splash  ! 
'T  is  gone !  and  nothing  there  ! 
The  waves  have  swept  away  the  bubbling  tide,  — 
Bright-crested  waves,  how  calmly  on  they  ride ! 

With  a  brutal  jest  on  his  lips,  Lee  then  orders  the  horse  to  be 
thrown  alive  into  the  sea  ;  the  men  obey. 

Such  sound  to  mortal  ear  ne'er  came 
As  rang  far  o'er  the  waters  wide  ; 
It  shook  with  fear  the  stoutest  frame,  — 
The  horse  is  on  the  tide  ! 
As  the  waves  leave,  or  lift  him  up,  his  cry 
Comes  lower  now,  and  now  is  near  and  high. 

The  ill-fated  lady's  gold  is  then  divided  ;  but  a  quarrel  spring- 
ing up  over  it,  Lee  stabs  one  of  his  men  to  the  heart.  When 
the  ship  is  near  the  land,  she  is  abandoned  and  set  on  fire.  Lee 
with  his  cut-throats  gains  the  shores  of  Block  Island.  They 
drown  remorse  in  drink,  and  silence  suspicion  by  scattering  their 
ill-gotten  gold  right  and  left.  At  length  the  night  of  their  hor- 
rid anniversary  comes  round.  The  buccaneers  are  celebrating 
it  by  a  carousal,  when  a  sudden  glare,  lighting  up  the_sea,  brings 
the  orgy  to  a  pause. 

Not  bigger  than  a  star  it  seems  ; 

And  now  't  is  like  the  bloody  moon  ; 
And  now  it  shoots  in  hairy  streams  ! 
It  moves  !  —  't  will  reach  us  soon  ! 
A  ship  !  and  all  on  fire  !  —  hull,  yard,  and  mast ! 
Her  sails  are  sheets  of  flame  !  —  she's  iiearin<'  fast  ! 


THE    BUCCANEER.  ^H 

And  what  comes  up  above  the  wave 

So  ghastly  white  I     A  spectral  head ! 
A  horse's  head  !  (May  Heaven  save 
Those  looking  on  the  dead,  — 
The  waking  dead  !)     There  on  the  sea  he  stands,  — 
The  Spectre  Horse  !     He  moves !     He  gains  the  sands  ! 

The  spectre  horse  gallops  like  the  wind  up  to  the  door-stone, 
and  stands  with  his  burning  eyes  fixed  on  Lee.  A  power  he 
cannot  resist  compels  the  villain  to  mount  the  dreadful  steed, 


LEE   ON   THE    SPECTRE   HORSE. 

which  instantly  dashes  off  with  his  rider  to  the  highest  cliff  of 
the  island,  from  which  Lee  sees  not  only  the  ship  on  fire,  but 
beholds  in  the  depths  it  lights  the  bodies  of  those  whom  ho  had 
slain  At  dawn  the  spectre  vanishes,  leaving  him  rooted  to  the 
spot  Lee's  doom  has  begun;  thenceforth  he  is  accursed  A 
shun   him,  all  turn  from  him  with   fear  and  loathing  ;  for  all 


412  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

have  seen  the  spectre  ship.  Weary  of  life,  yet  afraid  to  die, 
the  outcast  wanders  about  the  shores  of  the  island,  —  a  broken, 
hopeless  wreck  of  his  former  self 

They  ask  him  why  he  wanders  so, 

From  day  to  day,  the  uneven  strand. 
"  I  wish  —  I  wish  that  I  might  go ! 
But  I  would  go  by  land  ! 
And  there 's  no  way  that  I  can  find  ;  I  've  tried 
All  day  and  night !  "      He  seaward  looked  and  sighed. 

At  last  the  fatal  summons  comes.  The  fireship  again  bears 
down  upon  the  island.  Again  the  unearthly  messenger,  the 
spectre  horse,  strides  over  the  waves.  The  pirate  pleads  for 
mercy ;  but  his  hour  is  come. 

He 's  on  the  beach,  but  stops  not  there  ; 

He  's  on  the  sea,  —  that  dreadful  horse  1 
Lee  flings  and  writhes  in  wild  despair. 
In  vain  !     The  Spirit  Corse 
Holds  him  by  fearful  spell  ;  he  cannot  leap  : 
Within  that  horrid  light  he  rides  the  deep. 

It  lights  the  sea  around  their  track,  — 

The  curling  comb  and  steel-dark  wave  ; 
And  there  sits  Lee  the  Spectre's  back,  — 
Gone  !  gone !  and  none  to  save  ! 
They  're  seen  no  more  ;  the  night  has  shut  them  in  ! 
May  Heaven  have  pity  on  thee,  man  of  sin  ! 


THE    PALATINE. 
THE   PALATINE. 

J.    G.    WHITTIEU. 

Old  wives  spinning  their  webs  of  tow, 

Or  rocking  weirdly  to  and  fro 

In  and  out  of  the  peat's  dull  glow, 

And  old  men  mending  their  nets  of  twine, 
Talk  together  of  dream  and  sign, 
Talk  of  the  lost  ship  "  Palatine,"  — 

The  ship  that,  a  hundred  years  before, 
Freighted  deep  with  its  goodly  store, 
In  the  gales  of  the  equinox  went  ashore. 

Down  swooped  the  wreckers,  like  birds  of  prey 
Tearing  the  heart  of  the  ship  away. 
And  the  dead  had  never  a  word  to  say. 

And  then,  with  ghastly  shimmer  and  shine 
Over  the  rocks  and  the  seething  brine, 
They  burned  the  wreck  of  the  "Palatine." 

In  their  cruel  hearts,  as  they  homeward  sped, 
"  The  sea  and  the  rocks  are  dumb,"  they  said  : 
<'  There  '11  be  no  reckoning  with  the  dead." 

But  the  year  went  round,  and  when  once  more 
Along  their  foam- white  curves  of  shore 
They  heard  the  line-storm  rave  and  roar. 

Behold  !  again,  with  shimmer  and  shine, 
Over  the  rocks  and  the  seething  brine. 
The  flaming  wreck  of  the  "  Palatine ! " 

So,  haply  in  fitter  words  than  these, 
Mending  their  nets  on  their  patient  knees, 
Thev  tell  the  legend  of  Manisees. 


413 


414  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   WAMPANOAGS. 

THE  beautiful  eminence  of  Mount  Hope  was  the  ancient  seat 
of  Philip,  the  great  sachem  of  the  Wampanoags.  Wlien 
his  reverses  had  left  him  only  a  handful  of  followers  Philip  took 
the  sublime  resolution  of  returning  to  his  mountain  home  and 
dying  like  a  chief  of  royal  blood,  with  his  arms  in  his  hands. 
Mount  Hope  was  quickly  surrounded  by  his  enemies  ;  and  here 
the  dreaded  warrior  fell,  shot  through  the  heart  by  a  renegade 
of  his  own  race. 

When  here  King  Philip  stood, 

Or  rested  in  the  niche  we  call  his  throne, 
He  looked  o'er  hill  and  vale  and  swelling  flood, 

Which  once  were  all  his  own. 
Before  the  white  man's  footstep,  day  by  day, 

As  the  sea-tides  encroach  upon  the  sand, 
He  saw  his  proud  possessions  melt  away. 
And  found  himself  a  king  without  a  land. 
Constrained  by  unknown  laws. 
Judged  guilty  without  cause, 
Maddened  by  treachery. 
What  wonder  that  his  tortured  spirit  rose 
And  turned  upon  his  foes, 
And  told  his  wrongs  in  words  tliat  stdl  we  see 
Recorded  on  the  page  of  history. 


fart  €toelftl). 
CONNECTICUT    LEGENDS. 


THE   PHANTOM   SHIP. 


THIS  marvel  comes  to  us  iii  a  letter  written  at  New  Haven, 
where  it  happened,  to  Cotton  Mather,  and  printed  in  his 
"  ]\[aonalia  Christi."  As  Wagner  has  confirmed  to  our  own  age 
the  immortality  of  tlie  Flying  Dutchman,  so  have  Mather  and 
Longfellow  decreed  that  of  this  wondrous  sea-legend.  There 
is  no  power  in  science  to  eradicate  either  of  them.  One  would 
not  have  his  illusions  rudely  dispelled  by  going  behind  the 
scenes  while  "Der  fliegende  Hollander"  is  being  performed; 
and  he  does  not  ask  if  under  such  or  such  atmospheric  condi- 
tions a  mirage  may  not  have  deceived  the  good  people  of  New 
Haven  in  the  year  a.  d,  1647. 

In  that  year  a  Ehode-Island-built  ship  of  about  one  hundred 
and  fifty  tons'  burden,  carrying  a  valuable  cargo,  besides  "  a  far 
more  rich  treasure  of  passengers,"  put  to  sea  from  New  Haven. 
Among  those  who  sailed  in  her  were  five  or  six  of  the  most  emi- 
nent persons  in  that  colony.  The  ship  was  new,  but  so  "  walty," 
that  Lamberton,  her  master,  often  said  that  she  would  prove  the 
grave  of  passengers  and  crew.  It  was  in  the  heart  of  winter ; 
the  harbor  was  frozen  over,  and  a  way  was  cut  through  the  ice, 
through  which  the  ship  slowly  passed  on  her  voyage,  while  the 
Eeverend  Mr.  Davenport,  besides  many  other  friends  who  wit- 
27 


418  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

nessed  her  departure,  accompanied  her  with  their  prayers  and 
tears  until  she  was  lost  to  view. 

An  ill-omened  gloom  overspread  the  scene,  to  which  the  prayer 
of  the  pastor  lent  an  emphasis  of  its  own.  They  who  were  de- 
parting heard  these  solemn  words  of  invocation,  wafted  like  a 
prayer  for  the  dead  to  their  ears  :  ''  Lord,  if  it  be  thy  pleasure 
to  bury  these  our  friends  in  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  take  them  ; 
they  are  thine  :  save  them  !  " 

When,  in  the  following  spring,  the  ships  arriving  from  Eng- 
land brought  no  tidings  either  of  ship  or  company,  "  New 
Haven's  heart  began  to  fail  her."  This,  says  the  narrative, 
*'  put  the  godly  people  upon  much  prayer,  both  public  and  pri- 
vate, that  tlie  Lord  would  —  if  it  was  his  pleasure  • —  let  them 
hear  what  he  had  done  with  their  dear  friends,  and  prepare 
them  with  a  suitable  submission  to  his  holy  will." 

One  afternoon  in  June  a  great  thunderstorm  arose  out  of  the 
northwest.  After  it  had  spent  itself,  —  after  this  grand  overture 
had  ceased,  —  the  black  clouds  rolled  away  in  the  distance,  antl 
the  skies  again  bscame  serene  and  bright.  All  at  once,  about 
an  hour  before  sunset,  the  people  saw  a  large  ship,  with  all  her 
sails  spread  and  her  colors  flying,  coming  gallantly  up  from  the 
harbor's  mouth.  But  such  a  ship  as  that  had  never  before  been 
seen ;  for  notwithstanding  the  wind  was  blowing  dead  against 
her  from  the  land,  she  moved  steadily  on  against  it  as  if  her 
sails  were  filled  with  a  fresh  and  favorable  gale.  The  people 
looked  on  in  wonder  and  in  awe.  The  strange  vessel  seemed 
floating  in  air ;  there  was  no  ripple  at  her  bow,  nor  on  her  deck 
any  of  the  bustle  denoting  preparation  to  anchor.  All  those 
who  had  assembled  to  witness  the  strange  sight  gazed  in  stu- 
pefaction. The  children  clapped  their  hands  and  cried  out, 
"  There 's  a  brave  ship  ! "  while  up  the  harbor  she  sailed,  stem- 
ming wind  and  tide,  and  every  moment  looming  larger  and 
more  distinct. 

At  length,  crowding  up  as  far  as  there  is  depth  of  water  suffi- 
cient for  such  a  vessel,  —  in  fact  so  near  to  the  spectators  that  the 
figure  of  a  man  standing  on  her  poop,  with  a  naked  sword,  which 


419 


THE    PHANTOM   SHIP. 

he  pointed  seaward,  was 
distinctly  seen,— sud- 
denly and  noiselessly,  as 
if  struck  by  a  squall,  her 
main-top  seemed  blown 
away,  and,  falling  in  a 
wreck,  hung  entangled  in 
the  shrouds;  then  her 
niizzen-top,  and  then  all 
her  masts,  spars,  and 
sails  blew  away  from  her 
decks,  and  vanished  like 


■420  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

thistledown,  leaving  only  a  dismantled  hulk  floating  in  the  quiet 
haven.  As  if  yielding  now  to  an  invisible  but  resistless  force, 
this  too  began  to  careen  dangerously  more  and  more,  until  it 
went  down  before  the  eyes  of  the  beholders  in  a  mist-like  cloud, 
which  after  a  little  time  melted  away,  leaving  the  space  lately 
occupied  by  the  Phantom  Ship,  as  everywhere  else,  clear  and 
unobstructed. 

The  wonder-struck  lookers-on,  while  this  weird  counterfeit  of 
a  wreck  at  sea  was  enacting  before  their  eyes,  could  so  far  distin- 
guish the  peculiar  form  and  rigging  of  the  Spectre  Ship  as  to 
be  able  to  say  that  "  This  was  the  very  mould  of  our  ship,  and 
thus  was  her  tragic  end."  The  learned  and  devout  Mr.  Daven- 
port also  declared  publicly,  "  That  God  had  condescended,  for 
the  cpiieting  of  their  afflicted  spirits,  this  extraordinary  account 
of  his  sovereign  disposal  of  those  for  whom  so  many  fervent 
prayers  were  made  continually." 

Mr.  Bryant,  writing  to  the  poet  Dana  in  1824,  says  that 
he  had  formed  the  idea  of  constructing  a  narrative  poem  on 
this  subject ;  but  upon  finding  that  the  legend  had  already 
been  made  use  of  by  Irving,  he  abandoned  the  purpose,  which 
Longfellow  subsequently  carried  out,  with  dramatic  effect,  as 
follows  :  — 

A  ship  sailed  from  New  Haven  ; 

And  the  keen  and  frosty  airs. 
That  filled  her  sails  at  parting. 

Were  hea^'y  with  good  men's  prayers. 

But  Master  Lamberton  muttered, 
And  under  his  breath  said  he, 
"  This  ship  is  so  crank  and  walty, 
I  fear  our  grave  she  will  be  !  " 

And  at  last  their  prayers  were  answered  :  — 

It  was  in  the  month  of  June, 
An  hour  before  the  sunset 

Of  a  windy  afternoon. 


THE    CHARTER    OAK.  421 

When,  steadily  steering  landward, 

A  ship  was  seen  below, 
And  they  knew  it  was  Lamberton,  Master, 

Who  sailed  so  long  ago. 

On  she  came,  M'ith  a  cloud  of  canvas, 

Right  against  the  wind  that  blew, 
Until  the  eye  could  distinguish 

The  faces  of  the  crew. 

Then  fell  her  straining  topmasts, 

Hanging  tangled  in  the  shrouds. 
And  her  sails  were  loosened  and  lifted, 

And  blown  away  like  clouds. 

And  the  masts,  with  all  their  rigging, 

Fell  slow]}^,  one  by  one. 
And  the  hulk  dilated  and  vanished. 

As  a  sea-mist  in  the  sun  ! 

And  the  people  who  saw  this  marvel 

Each  said  unto  his  friend, 
That  this  was  the  mould  of  their  vessel, 

And  thus  her  tragic  end. 


THE   CHARTER   OAK. 

WERE  an  American  schoolboy  to  be  asked  to  name  the 
most  celebrated  tree  of  history,  he  would  undoubtedly 
mention  the  Charter  Oak.  Other  trees  are  locally  famous  ;  but 
this  tree  may  be  said  to  have  a  national  reputation. 

It  is  now  not  quite  thirty  years  since  the  sturdy  oak  itself 
went  down  before  one  of  those  terrific  storms  that  it  had  for 
centuries  refused  to  budge  an  inch  to ;  but  so  firmly  had  it 
become  rooted  in  the  event  of  history  which  first  drew  con- 
spicuous attention  to  it,  that  this  will  be  as  soon  forgotten  as  the 


422  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

oak  will.  Notliiiig  ilhistrates  like  thiri  the  strength  of  old  associ- 
ations, or  more  clearly  expresses  that  demand  of  the  human  mind 
for  something  that  may  establish  a  relation  with  the  invisible 
tlirough  the  visible.  The  Charter  Oak  is  no  more.  Yet  it  is 
still  the  tree  that  commemorates  to  most  minds  the  preservation 
of  the  Colonial  Charter,  more  distinctly  than  the  event  itself  does 
the  tree  ;  for  it  is  undoubtedly  true  that  when  we  cast  our  eyes 
over  the  field  of  history  we  instinctively  seek  out  those  objects 
that  rise  above  the  common  level,  like  steeples  above  a  city. 
One  sees  there  the  Charter  Oak  ;  tlie  chapter  of  history  then 
swiftly  unfolds  itself. 

The  fall  of  this  mighty  monarch  of  the  ancient  forests  oc- 
curred in  the  year  1856.  It  was  announced  throughout  the 
Union  as  a  public  calamity ;  and  in  Hartford,  where  the  Charter 
Oak  had  almost  become  an  object  of  veneration,  the  intelligence 
created  a  feeling  of  loss  to  the  glory  of  the  city  which  nothing 
in  the  way  of  monuments  could  make  good.  The  smallest 
pieces  of  the  tree  were  eagerly  secured  by  relic-hunters,  and 
they  are  still  carefully  treasured  up,  in  order  to  perpetuate,  in  the 
thousand  forms  into  which  a  piece  of  wood  may  be  turned,  the 
memory  of  the  brave  old  oak  from  which  Hartford  derived  its 
familiar  sobriquet  of  the  Charter-Oak  City,  of  which  her  citizens 
are  justly  proud. 

The  Charter  Oak  stood  on  the  slope  of  Wyllys's  Hill,  in  the 
city  of  Hartford ;  and  it  had  stood  on  tlie  same  spot  for  cen- 
turies. No  man  knew  its  exact  age  ;  but  there  is  little  doubt 
that  it  was  an  object  of  veneration  to  the  Indians  long  before 
the  discovery  of  America  by  Columbus.  Tradition  says  tliat 
when  the  white  people  began  to  build  here  at  Hartford,  Mr. 
Samuel  Wyllys,  who  was  one  of  these  pioneers,  was  busy  clear- 
ing the  forest  away  around  his  homestead,  and  he  had  marked 
this  tree  for  destruction  with  the  rest ;  l)ut  the  savages  who 
dwelt  in  the  neighborhood  so  earnestly  begged  that  it  might  be 
spared,  because  its  first  putting  forth  its  leaves  had  been  a  sign 
to  them  from  immemorial  time  when  to  ])lant  their  corn,  that  at 
their  request  the  oak  was  left  standing. 


THE   CHARTER   OAK. 


423 


Some  idea  of  the  great  age  of  this  historic  tree  may,  however, 
be  formed  by  considering  its  dimensions.  Thirty  odd  years 
before  it  fell  to  the  ground,  a  wreck,  it  measured  thirty-six  feet 
in  circumference  at  the  base.  The  famous  hiding-place  in  its 
trunk  had  then  nearly  closed  up,  although  the  old  people  could 
remember  when  it  would  easily  admit  a  child  into  the  hollow 
cavity  of  the  tree.  The  same  generation  believed  this  to  be  a 
sion  that  it  had  fulfilled  its  mission.     When  Mr.  Lossing  visited 


it  in  1848  he  found  the  trunk  then  having  a  girth  of  twenty- 
five  feet  around  it  at  one  foot  from  the  ground  ;  and  the  opening 
at  the  bottom  was  then  a  narrow  crevice  only  large  enough  lor  a 
person's  hand  to  go  in. 

This  oak  appeared  to  have  lost  it.s  upper  trunk  durmg  some 
battle  with  lightning  or  gale,  so  that  many  others  of  its  species 
of  more  recent  growth  surpassed  it  in  height ;  but  the  accident 
had  also  enormously  strengthened  the  lower  trunk,  and  extended 
the  spread  and  thickness  of  the  limbs,  which  continued  to  flaunt 


424  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

defiance  in  the  face  of  the  elements  that  were  surely  destroy- 
ing them  piecemeal.  In  time  the  tree  had  recovered  its  old 
symmetry  of  form,  while  its  foliage  was  still  remarkably  rich 
and  exuberant.  Year  by  year  it  became  more  and  more  closely 
imprisoned  within  the  walls  of  the  growing  city,  until  it  stood 
a  solitary,  though  not  unregarded,  survivor  of  its  race  and 
time. 

There  is  another  relic  intimately  associated  with  the  Charter 
Oak  for  which  the  people  of  Connecticut  have  a  great  regard. 
Hanging  up  in  the  office  of  the  Secretary  of  State,  in  the  State 
Capitol,  in  a  frame  made  of  the  Charter  Oak,  is  the  venerable 
original  charter  of  the  Colony,  bearing  not  only  the  autograph, 
but  the  portrait  of  King  Charles  II.  It  is  the  genuine  world- 
renowned  document  whose  mysterious  disappearance  one  even- 
ing, about  two  centuries  ago,  caused  such  a  hubbub  to  be  raised 
throughout  the  Colonies  ;  and  it  is,  therefore,  of  all  the  his- 
torical treasures  of  the  State  the  most  valued. 

The  story  of  how  the  Colonial  charter  was  saved  from  the 
clutches  of  Sir  Edmund  Andros  is  a  stirring  episode  of  those  stir- 
ring times,  when  Tyranny,  boldly  unmasking,  began  openly  to 
threaten  New  ICngland  with  tlie  loss  of  all  her  time-honored  fran- 
chises. In  contempt  of  their  chartered  rights,  King  James  II. 
had  appointed  Sir  Edmund  governor  over  all  the  New-England 
Colonies.  Neither  the  Avishes,  the  interests,  nor  the  happiness 
of  the  people  were  to  be  for  a  moment  considered.  It  was  to 
be  a  rule  of  iron,  and  a  man  of  iron  was  chosen  for  it.  The 
first  step  was  to  seize  and  declare  void  the  old  charters.  Mas- 
sachusetts had  already  been  dispossessed  of  liers  ;  everything 
there  was  in  confusion.  It  was  now  the  turn  of  the  otlier 
colonies.  AVith  this  object  Sir  Edmund  desj)atched  to  the  Con- 
necticut authorities  an  order  demanding  in  good  set  terms  the 
surrender  of  their  charter ;  for  even  the  arbitrary  James  would 
have  it  appear  tliat  he  paid  some  respect  to  the  majesty  of  tlie 
law  by  observing  its  forms ;  and  the  cliarter,  being  a  royal  grant 
of  power,  could  not  be  ignored.  Tiie  people  of  Connecticut  con- 
sidered this  an  act  of  usurpation,  and  tlieir  representatives  natu- 


THE   CIIAKTEK   OAK.  425 

rally  liesituted.  But  the  charter  not  being  forthcoming  on  his 
demand,  Sii"  Edmund  determineil  to  let  the  good  people  of  Con- 
necticut know  witli  whom  they  had  to  deal.  He  was  a  man  of 
action  ;  and  he  quickly  put  himself  at  the  head  of  his  soldiers, 
and  went  to  fetch  the  instrument  at  the  point  of  the  sword. 
Never  before  had  a  body  of  royal  troops  trodden  the  soil  of 
the  Land  of  Steady  Habits.  Now,  their  errand  was  to  sow 
the  seeds  of  rebellion  and  disloyalty.  The  Governor,  nursing 
his  wrath  all  the  way,  arrived  at  Hartford  in  no  gentle  frame 
of  mind  ;  and  going  at  once  to  the  House  where  the  Colonial 
Assembly  was  sitting,  he  strode  into  the  chamber  and  imperi- 
ously demanded,  in  the  King's  name,  the  immediate  delivery  to 
him  of  the  charter,  at  the  same  time  declaring  the  old  govern- 
ment to  be  dissolved  and  its  proceedings  unlawful.  The  repre- 
sentatives of  the  people  saw  the  structure  that  their  ftithers  had 
raised  falling  in  ruins  around  them.  There  stood  the  dictator. 
Open  resistance  would  be  treason.  But  certain  of  the  members- 
had  resolved  that  he  should  never  have  the  charter,  cost  what  it 
might.  Wishing  to  gain  time,  the  Assembly  fell  into  debate 
over  the  matter,  while  the  King's  viceroy  haughtily  awaited  its 
determination  Avithout  leaving  the  chamber.  The  countenances 
of  all  present  were  anxious  and  pre-occupied.  The  debate  grew 
warm,  and  Sir  Edmund  impatient.  It  became  so  dark  that 
candles  were  liglited.  The  charter  was  then  brought  in  and 
laid  upon  the  table  in  full  view  of  every  one  present.  A  hush 
fell  upon  the  Assembly,  every  man  of  whom  knew  that  the  crisis 
had  been  reached.  By  this  time  the  house  was  surrounded  by 
the  populace,  in  whom  the  feeling  of  resistance  only  wanted  a 
spark  to  set  it  in  a  flame.  But  a  better  way  had  been  found. 
All  at  once  the  lights  in  the  chamber  were  extinguished  ;  and 
when  they  were  officiously  relighted,  the  precious  instrument 
was  gone !  The  faces  of  that  body  of  men  when  this  fact 
dawned  Mpon  them  nmst  have  been  a  study. 

The  tradition  is  —  for  of  course  no  official  reconl  could  be 
made  of  such  an  act  of  treason  —  that  Avhen  the  candles  were 
put  out,  the  box  containing  the  royal  patent  was  snatched  from 


426  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

the  table,  humed  out  of  the  chamber,  and  thru.st  into  the 
hollow  of  the  tree  that  has  ever  since  borne  the  name  of  the 
Charter  Oak.  Tliis  daring  act  was  performed  by  Captain  Jere- 
miah Wadswortli  ;  and  it  subsequently  saved  Connecticut  from 
having  imposed  upon  her  the  same  humiliating  terms  that 
were  granted  under  ftivor  of  King  William  to  the  old  Mother- 
Colony. 

But  notwithstanding  his  main  purpose  had  thus  been 
thwarted,  Sir  Edmund  took  upon  him  on  the  spot  the  reins 
of  government,  by  a  formal  declaration  which  is  entered  upon 
the  record,  closing  witli  the  ominous  word  "  finis."  So  the 
people  of  Connecticut  had  after  aU  to  submit,  until  the  Revo- 
lution in  England  tumbled  King  James's  rotten  throne  about 
his  ears,  and  in  its  turn  wrote  "  finis "  at  the  end  of  his 
fatal  dynasty  in  characters  large  enough  to  convey  their  warn- 
ing to  his  successors,  —  "Resistance  to  tyranny  is  oljedience 
to  God." 


THE  CHARTER  OAK  AT  HARTFORD. 

L.    H.    SIGOURXEY. 

Once  there  came,  in  days  of  yore, 

A  minion  from  the  mother  shore. 

With  men-at-arms  and  flashing  eye 

Of  predetermined  tyranny. 

High  words  he  spake,  and  stretched  his  hand, 

Young  Freedom's  charter  to  demand. 

But  lo!  it  vanisln'il  iVoni  his  sight, 
And  sudden  darkness  I'ell  like  night. 
While,  baffled  still,  in  wrath  and  pain. 
He,  groping,  sought  the  prize  in  vain  ; 
For  a  brave  hand,  in  trust  to  me. 
Had  given  that  germ  of  liberty  ; 
And  like  our  relative  of  old 
Who  clasped  liis  arms,  serenely  bold, 


THE    PLACE    OF    NOLSES.  427 

Around  the  endangered  prince  who  tied 
The  scaffold  where  his  fatlier  bled, 
I  liitl  it,  safe  from  storm  and  blast, 
Until  the  days  of  dread  were  past ; 
And  then  niy  faithful  breast  restored 
The  treasure  to  its  rightful  lord. 

For  this  do  pilgrims  seek  my  side, 
And  artists  sketch  my  varying  pride  ; 
And  far  away  o'er  ocean's  brine, 
An  acorn  or  a  leaf  of  mine, 
I  hear,  are  stored  as  relics  rich 
In  antiquarian's  classic  niche. 


THE   PLACE   OF   NOISES. 

WE  take  the  following  weird  tale  partly  from  the  historian 
Trumbull,  and  partly  from  tlie  poet  Braiuard.  History 
and  romance  are  thus  amicably  blended,  —  each  elucidating 
accordino-  to  its  own  spirit  the  singular  phenomenon  Avliich 
so  long  disturbed  the  good  people  of  East  Had  dam. 

"The  Indian  name  of  the  town  was  Machemoodus,  which  in 
English  is  the  place  of  noises,  —  a  name  given  with  tlie  utmost  pro- 
priety to  the  place.  Tlie  accounts  given  of  the  noises  and  quakings 
there  are  very  remarkable.  Were  it  not  that  the  people  are  accus- 
tomed to  them,  they  would  occasion  great  alarm.  The  Eeverend  Mr. 
Hosmer,  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Prince,  of  Boston,  written  August  13th, 
1729,  gives  this  account  of  them:  'As  to  the  eaithciuakes,  I  have 
something  considerable  and  awful  to  tell  you.  Earthquakes  have 
been  here  (and  nowhere  but  in  this  precinct,  as  can  be  discerned,  — 
that  is,  they  seem  to  have  their  centre,  rise,  and  origin  among  us), 
as  has  been  observed  for  more  than  thirty  years.  I  have  been  in- 
formed that  in  this  place,  before  the  English  settlements,  there  were 
great  numbers  of  Indian  inhabitants,  and  that  it  was  a  place  of  ex- 
traordinary Indian  2)awaws,  —  or,  in  short,  tliat  it  was  a  place  where 


428  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

the  Indians  drove  a  prodigious  trade  at  worshipping  the  devil.  Also 
I  was  informed  that,  many  years  past,  an  old  Indian  was  asked 
what  was  the  reason  of  the  noises  in  this  place.  To  which  he  re- 
plied, that  the  Indian's  God  was  very  angry  because  Englishmen's 
God  was  come  here.  Now  whether  there  be  anything  diabolical  in 
these  things,  I  know  not  ;  but  this  I  know,  that  God  Almighty  is 
to  be  seen  and  trembled  at  in  what  has  been  often  heard  among  us. 
Whether  it  be  fire  or  air  distressed  in  the  subterraneous  caverns  of 
the  earth,  cannot  be  known,  —  for  there  is  no  eruption,  no  explosion 
perceptible,  —  but  by  sounds  and  tremors,  which  sometimes  are  very 
fearful  and  dreadful.  I  have  myself  heard  eight  or  ten  sounds  suc- 
cessively, and  imitating  small  arms,  in  the  space  of  five  minutes. 
I  have,  I  suppose,  heard  several  hundreds  of  them  within  twenty 
years  ;  some  more,  some  less  terrible.  Sometimes  we  have  heard 
them  almost  every  day ;  and  great  numbers  of  them  in  the  space  of 
a  year.  Oftentimes  I  have  observed  them  to  be  coming  down  from 
the  north,  imitating  slow  thunder;  until  the  sound  came  near  or  right 
under,  and  then  there  seemed  to  be  a  breaking  like  the  noise  of  a 
cannon-shot  or  severe  thunder,  which  shakes  the  houses  and  all  that 
is  in  them.  They  have  in  a  manner  ceased  since  the  great  earth- 
quake. As  I  remember,  there  have  been  but  two  heard  since  that 
time,  and  those  but  moderate.'  " 

The  poetic  version  of  the  story  is  introduced  by  the  following 
account  in  prose,  for  the  truth  of  which  the  poet  vouches.  We 
will  only  add  to  it  the  statement  that  the  carbuncle  was  highly 
prized  by  our  ancestors  for  its  supposed  power  to  protect  the 
wearer  from  the  danger  of  infection  ;  but  it  was  only  to  be  found 
in  inaccessible  places,  like  the  bowels  of  the  earth  or  unviolated 
mountain  peaks. 

"  A  traveller  who  accidentally  passed  through  East  Haddam 
made  several  in([uiries  as  to  the  Mnodus  noises  that  are  peculiar  to 
that  part  of  the  country.  Many  particulars  were  related  to  him  of 
their  severity  and  eflfects,  and  of  the  means  that  had  been  taken  to 
ascertain  their  cause  and  prevent  their  recurrence.  He  was  told 
that  the  simple  and  terrified  inhabitants,  in  the  early  settlement  of 
the  town,  applied  to  a  book-learned  and  erudite  man  from  England, 
by  the  name  of  Doctor  Steele,  who  undertook  by  magic  to  allay 
their  terrors  ;  and  for  this  purpose  took  the  sole  charge  of  a  black- 


MATCHIT   MOODUS.  429 

smith's  shop,  in  which  he  worked  by  night,  and  from  which  he  ex- 
cluded all  admission,  tightly  stopping  and  darkening  the  place,  to  pre- 
vent any  prying  curiosity  from  interfering  with  his  occult  operations. 
He,  however,  so  far  explained  the  cause  of  these  noises  as  to  say  that 
they  were  owing  to  a  carbuncle  which  must  have  grown  to  a  great 
size  in  the  bowels  of  the  rocks,  and  that  if  it  could  be  removed,  the 
noises  would  cease  until  another  should  grow  in  its  place.  The  noises 
ceased ;  the  doctor  departed,  and  has  never  been  heard  of  since.  It  was 
supposed  that  he  took  the  carbuncle  with  him.  Thus  far  was  authen- 
tic. A  little  girl  who  had  anxiously  noticed  the  course  of  the  travel- 
ler's inquiries  sung  for  his  further  edification  the  following  ballad." 


MATCHIT  MOODUS. 

J.    G.    BKAINAKD. 

See  you  upon  the  lonely  moor 

A  crazy  building  rise  i 
No  hand  dares  venture  to  open  the  door  ; 
No  footstep  treads  its  dangerous  floor  ; 

No  eye  in  its  secrets  pries. 

Now  why  is  each  crevice  stopped  so  tight  I 

Say  why  the  bolted  door  1 
Why  glimmers  at  midnight  the  forge's  light  I 
All  day  is  the  anvil  at  rest ;  but  at  night 

The  flames  of  the  furnace  roar. 

Is  it  to  arm  the  horse's  heel 

That  the  midnight  anvil  rings  1 
Is  it  to  mould  the  ploughshare's  steel, 
Or  is  it  to  guard  the  wagon's  wheel, 

That  the  smith's  sledge-hammer  swings  ? 

The  iron  is  bent,  and  the  crucible  stands 

With  alchemy  boiling  up  ; 
Its  contents  were  mixed  by  unknown  hands, 
And  no  mortal  fire  e'er  kindled  the  brands 

That  heated  that  (cornered  cu]). 


430  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

O'er  Moodus  River  a  light  has  glanced, 

On  Moodus  Hills  it  shone  ; 
On  the  granite  rocks  the  rays  have  danced, 
And  upward  those  creeping  lights  advanced. 

Till  they  met  on  the  highest  stone. 

Oh,  that  is  tTie  very  wizard  place, 

And  now  is  the  Avizard  h(nu', 
By  the  light  that  was  conjured  up  to  trace, 
Ere  the  star  that  falls  can  run  its  race, 

The  seat  of  the  earthquake's  power. 

By  that  unearthly  light  I  see 

A  figure  strange  alone  ; 
With  magic  circlet  on  his  knee. 
And  decked  with  Satan's  symbols,  he 

Seeks  for  the  hidden  stone. 

Now  upward  goes  that  gray  old  man, 

With  mattock,  bar,  and  spade  : 
The  summit  is  gained,  and  the  toil  begun, 
And  deep  by  the  rock  where  the  wild  lights  run. 

The  magic  trench  is  made. 

Loud  and  yet  louder  was  the  groan 

That  sounded  wide  and  far  ; 
And  deep  and  hollow  was  the  moan 
That  rolled  around  the  bedded  stone 

Where  the  workman  plied  his  bar. 

Then  upward  streamed  the  brilliant's  light,  — 
It  streamed  o'er  crag  and  stone  ; 

Dim  looked  the  stars  and  the  moon  that  night  ; 

But  when  morning  came  in  her  glory  bright, 
The  man  and  the  jewel  were  gone. 

But  wo  to  the  bark  in  which  he  flew 

From  Moodus'  rocky  shore  ; 
Wo  to  the  captain,  and  wo  to  the  crew 
That  ever  the  breath  of  life  they  drew 

When  that  dreadful  freight  they  bore. 


THE   SPANISH    GALLEON.  431 

The  carbuucle  lies  in  the  deep,  deep  sea, 

Beneath  the  mighty  wave  ; 
But  the  light  shines  upward  so  gloriously 
That  the  sailor  looks  pale,  and  forgets  his  glee, 

When  he  crosses  the  wizard's  grave. 


THE   SPANISH   GALLEON.' 

"  TT  is  a  fact,"  writes  the  poet  ]5rainard,  "  that  two  men  from 
J-  Vermont  are  now  (July  11th,  1827)  working  by  the  side- 
of  one  of  the  wharves  in  New  London,  for  buried  money,  by  the 
advice  and  recommendation  of  an  old  woman  of  that  State,  who 
assured  them  that  she  could  distinctly  see  a  box  of  dollars  packed 
edgewise.  The  locality  was  pointed  out  to  an  inch ;  and  her 
only  way  of  discovering  the  treasure  was  by  looking  through  a 
stone,  —  which  to  ordinary  optics  was  hardly  translucent.  For 
the  story  of  the  Spanish  galleon  that  left  so  much  bullion  in 
and  about  New  London,  see  Trumbull's  '  History  of  Connecti- 
cut ; '  and  for  Kidd,  incpiire  of  the  oldest  lady  you  can  find." 

The  story  related  by  Trumbull  is  this  :  — 

"About  this  time  [1753]  an  unhappy  event  took  place,  dis- 
honorable to  the  Colony,  injurious  to  foreigners,  and  which  occa- 
sioned a  great  and  general  uneasiness,  and  many  unfriendly 
suspicions  and  imputations  with  respect  to  some  of  the  princi- 
pal characters  in  the  Colony.  A  Spanish  ship,  coming  into  the 
port  of  New  London  in  distress,  ran  upon  a  reef  of  rocks,  and 
so  damaged  the  vessel  that  it  was  necessary  to  unlade  her  and 
put  her  freight  into  stores  at  New  London.  The  cargo  was 
delivered  into  the  custody  of  Joseph  Hill,  Esq.,  collector  of  the 
port  of  New  London.  The  supercargo  was  Don  Joseph  Miguel 
de  St.  Juan.  That  he  might  sail  with  his  cargo  early  in  the 
spring,  he  obtained  a  ship  of  about  two  hundred  tons,  and  was. 
ready  to  sail  in  April.     But  when  he  had  shipped  part  of  his. 


432 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


cargo,  other  parts  of  it  were  withholden  from  him  or  lost,  and 
could  not  by  any  means  of  his  be  recovered.  As  he  could  obtain 
no  relief,  and  was  determined  not  to  sail  without  tlie  recov- 
ery of  his  cargo  or  some  indemnification  for  the  loss  of  it,  he 
waited  until  October,  and  then  preferred  a  memorial  to  the 
Assembly,  representing  his  arrival  in  th(!  snow  *  St.  Joseph  and 


OLD   WAREHOUSES,    NEW    LONDON. 


St.  Helena'  from  Havana,  bound  to  Cadiz,  at  the  port  of  New 
London ;  and  that  he  had  stored  his  cargo  there,  in  the  custody 
of  Joseph  Hill,  Esq.,  the  collector ;  and  that  when  he  had  pro- 
cured a  vessel  in  April,  and  required  his  cargo,  that  it  might  be 
reshipped,  a  considerable  part  of  it  had  been  withholden,  lost, 
and  embezzled  ;  and  praying  for  relief,  or  that  he  might  reland 
that  part  of  his  cargo  which  remained,  and  secure  it  at  their  ex- 
pense ;  and  also  that  his  men  might  be  discharged. 


THE    SPANISH    GALLEON. 


433 


"The  Assembly,  after  bearing  and  deliberating  on  the  memo- 
rial, resolved,  That  wliatever  losses  he  had  sustained,  it  was 
either  by  means  to  them  unknown,  or  which  they  were  by  no 

means  able  to  prevent It  was  declared,  That  the  requests 

of  the  petitioner  were  unreasonable,  and  therefore  could  not  be 


ANCIENT   MILL,   NEW   LONDON. 


granted ;  but  that  as  protection  and  assistance  were  due  to  a 
foreigner  cast  among  them,  the  Assembly  did  advise  the  Gover- 
nor t°o  grant  all  due  protection  and  relief  to  the  said  Don  Miguel, 
according  to  the  laws  of  trade,  nature,  and  nations.  The  Gov- 
ernor was  also  desired  and  empowered,  in  case  the  said  Joseph 
Miguel  should  desire  it,  to  direct  a  full  search  after  any  part 
of  his  cargo  which  might  have  been  embezzled  or  lost,  and  to 
28 


434  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

take  all  such  reasonable  measures  therein  as  should  be  necessary 
to  do  justice  in  said  case. 

"  Before  the  meeting  of  the  freemen  in  April,  it  was  generally 
known  that  the  Spaniards  had  been  robbed,  or  at  least  that 
an  important  part  of  a  rich  and  ^'ery  -^-aluable  cargo  had  been 
stolen,  embezzled,  or  by  some  means  lost  or  kept  back  from  the 
owners;  and  it  occasioned  a  great  ferment  through  the  Colony. 
It  was  imagined  that  it  might  involve  the  Colony  in  great  diffi- 
culties ;  that  it  might  be  obliged  to  indemnify  .the  owners,  and 
that  it  would  bring  a  heavy  debt  upon  it ;  or  that  it  might  effect 
a  rupture,  and  hostilities  between  the  two  nations.  Others  were 
moved  with  a  sense  of  honor,  sympathy,  and  justice.  They 
were  ashamed  and  grieved  that,  when  foreigners  in  distress  had 
cast  themselves  upon  not  only  a  civilized,  but  Christian  people, 
they  had  been  plundered  as  though  they  had  fallen  among  hea- 
thens, thieves,  and  robbers.  All  the  feelings  of  covetousness, 
honor,  sympathy,  and  justice,  were  touched.  Great  blame  was 
imputed  to  some  of  the  principal  characters  in  the  Colony,  espe- 
cially to  Governor  Wolcott.  It  was  imagined  by  many  that  he 
had  not  taken  such  care  and  adopted  such  measures  to  secure 
the  property  of  those  foreigners,  and  to  save  them  harmless,  as 
he  ought  to  have  done.  Whether  there  was  any  just  founda- 
tion for  faulting  him  or  not,  it  so  disaffected  the  freemen  that, 
notwithstanding  his  former  popularity,  he  lost  their  suffrages, 
and  Thomas  Fitch,  Esq.,  was  chosen  governor  in  his  place. 
Mr.  Hill  did  not  escape  a  share  of  blame,  among  others.  How 
such  a  quantity  of  stores  of  various  kinds  should  be  lost  or 
embezzled  without  his  knowledge  or  privity,  and  that  no  thor- 
ough search  should  be  made  for  them  in  so  many  months,  is 
very  unaccountable.  But  where  the  fault  lay,  or  what  became 
of  the  lost  goods,  never  came  to  public  view.  Nor  does  it  ap- 
pear that  the  Colony  was  ever  put  to  any  extraordinary  expense 
or  trouble  on  that  account.  The  Avar  was  now  commencing, 
and  private  concerns  were  neglected  and  forgotten,  while  national 
interests  of  greater  moment  and  more  general  concern  engrossed 
the  public  mind  both  in  Europe  and  America." 


THE    MONEY-DIGGEKS.  435 

THE   MONEY-DIGGERS. 

J.    G.    BRAINARD. 

Thus  saitb  the  Book  :  "  Permit  no  witch  to  live  !  " 
Hence  Massachusetts  hath  expelled  the  race  ; 
Connecticut,  where  swap  and  dicker  thrive, 
Allowed  not  to  their  foot  a  resting-place. 
"With  more  of  hardihood  and  less  of  grace, 
Vermont  receives  the  sisters  gray  and  lean, 
Allows  each  witch  her  airy  broomstick  race, 
O'er  mighty  rocks  and  mountains  dark  with  green, 
Where  tempests  wake  their  voice,  and  torrents  roar  between. 

And  one  there  was  among  that  wicked  crew 
To  whom  the  enemy  a  pebble  gave, 
Through  which,  at  long-off  distance,  she  might  view 
All  treasures  of  the  fathomable  wave  ; 
And  where  the  Thames'  bright  billows  gently  lave 
The  arass-grown  piles  that  flank  the  ruined  wharf, 
She  sent  them  forth,  those  two  adventurers  brave, 
Where  greasy  citizens  their  beverage  quafl", 
Jeering  at  enterprise,  aye  ready  with  a  laugh. 

They  came,  those  straight-haired,  honest-meaning  men, 
Nor  question  asked  they,  nor  reply  did  make, 
Albeit  their  locks  were  lifted  like  as  when 
Young  Hamlet  saw  his  father ;  and  the  shake 
Of  knocking  knees,  and  jaws  that  seemed  to  break. 
Told  a  wild  tale  of  undertaking  bold. 
While  as  the  oyster-tongs  the  chiels  did  take. 
Dim  g]'ew  the  sight,  and  every  blood-drop  cold. 
As  kniglits  in  scarce  romant  sung  by  the  bards  of  old. 

For  not  in  daylight  were  their  rites  performed  ; 
When  nightcapped  heads  were  on  tlieir  pillow  laid, 
Sleep-freed  from  biting  care,  by  thought  unharmed, 
Snoring  e'er  word  was  spoke  or  prayer  was  said,  — 


436  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

'T  was  then  tlie  mattock  and  the  busy  spade, 
The  pump,  the  bucket,  and  the  windlass-rope, 
In  busy  silence  plied  the  mystic  trade, 
While  Resolution,  beckoned  on  by  Hope, 
Did  sweat  and  agonize  the  sought-for  chest  to  ope. 

Beneath  the  wave  the  iron  chest  is  hot, 
Deep  growls  are  heard,  and  reddening  eyes  are  seen  ; 
Yet  of  the  black  dog  she  had  told  them  not, 
Nor  of  the  gray  wild  geese  with  eyes  of  green, 
That  screamed  and  yelled  and  hovered  close  between 
The  buried  gold  and  the  rapacious  hand. 
Here  should  she  be,  though  mountains  intervene, 
To  scatter,  with  her  crooked  witch-hazel  waud. 
The  wave-born  sprites  that  keep  their  treasure  from  the  land. 

She  cannot,  may  not  come.     The  rotten  wharf 
Of  mouldering  planks  and  rusty  spikes  is  there  ; 
And  he  who  owned  a  quarter  or  an  half 
Is  disappointed  ;  and  the  witch  is,  —  where  ? 
Vermont  still  harbors  her.     Go,  seek  her  there, 
The  grandam  of  Joe  Strickland  ;  find  her  nest 
Where  summer  icicles  and  snowballs  are, 
Where  black  swans  paddle  and  where  petrels  rest ! 
Symmes  be  your  trusty  guide,  and  Robert  Kidd  your  guest ! 


THE   NORWICH   ELMS. 

L.    H.    SIGOURNEY. 

I  DO  remember  me 

Of  two  old  Elm-Trees'  shade, 
With  mosses  sprinkled  at  their  feet, 

Where  my  young  childhood  j)layed ; 


THE    NOEWICH    ELMS.  437 

While  the  rocks  above  their  head 

Frowned  out  so  stern  and  gray, 
And  the  little  crystal  streamlets  ' 

Went  leaping  on  their  way. 

There,  side  by  side,  they  lifted 

Their  intertwining  crown, 
And  through  their  broad  embracing  arms 

The  queenly  Moon  looked  down  ; 
And  methought,  as  there  I  lingered, 

A  musing  child  alone, 
She  fain  my  secret  heart  would  read 

From  her  bright  silver  tlirone. 

I  do  remend)er  me 

Of  all  their  wealth  of  leaves, 
When  Summer  in  her  radiant  loom 

The  burning  solstice  weaves  ; 
And  how,  with  firm  endurance, 

They  braved  an  adverse  sky, 
Like  Belisarius  doomed  to  meet 

His  country's  wintry  eye. 

I  've  roamed  through  varied  regions, 

Where  stranger-streandets  run  ; 
And  where  the  proud  magnolia  flaunts 

Beneath  a  Southern  sun  ; 
And  where  the  sparse  and  stunted  pine 

Puts  forth  its  sombre  form,  — 
A  vassal  to  the  Arctic  cloud 

And  to  the  tyrant  storm  ; 

And  where  the  pure  unruffled  lakes 

In  placid  wavelets  roll, 
Or  where  sublime  Niagara  shakes 

The  wonder-stricken  soul  ; 
I  've  seen  the  temple's  sculptured  pile. 

The  pencil's  glorious  art,  — 
Yet  still  those  old  green  trees  I  wore 

Depicted  on  my  heart. 


438  •       NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Years  fled  :  my  native  vale  I  sought, 

Where  those  tall  Elm-Trees  wave  ; 
But  many  a  column  of  its  trust 

Lay  broken  in  the  grave. 
The  ancient  and  the  white-haired  men, 

Whose  wisdom  was  its  stay, 
For  them  I  asked  ;   and  Echo's  voice 

Made  answer,  "  Where  are  they  1 " 

I  sought  the  thrifty  matron 

Whose  busy  wheel  was  heard 
When  the  early  beams  of  morning 

Awoke  the  chirping  bird  : 
Strange  faces  from  her  window  looked. 

Strange  voices  filled  her  cot  ; 
And  'neath  the  very  vine  she  trained, 

Her  memory  is  forgot. 

I  left  a  youthful  mother. 

Her  children  round  her  knee  : 
These  babes  had  risen  into  men, 

And  coldly  looked  on  me  ; 
But  she,  with  all  her  bloom  and  grace, 

Did  in  the  churchyard  lie. 
While  still  those  changeless  Elms  upbore 

Their  kingly  canopy. 

Though  we,  who  'neath  their  lofty  screen 

Pursued  our  childish  play, 
May  show  amid  our  sunny  locks 

Some  lurking  tints  of  gray, 
And  though  the  village  of  our  love 

Doth  many  a  change  betide, 
Still  do  these  sacred  Elm-Trees  stand 

In  all  their  strength  and  pride. 


^art  €j)irtcctttl&» 

NANTUCKET    AND    OTHER    LEGENDS. 


NANTUCKET    LEGENDS. 


THE  islands  of  Nantucket,  Martha's  Vineyard,  and  of  the 
Elizabeth  group  all  possess  more  or  less  legendary  lore 
of  the  kind  that  surrounds  them  with  a  peculiar  fascination. 
One  by  one  these  islands  have  emerged  from  the  sea  into  the 
light  of  history,  and  have  taken  a  place  upon  the  map.  Little 
by  little  and  with  caution  were  their  inhospitable  coasts  and 
foaming  reefs  explored  by  the  early  navigators,  and  step  by  step 
did  Christian  missionaries  approach  the  fierce  islanders  who 
inhabited  them  in  happy  ignorance  that  any  other  world  than 
the  neighboring  mainland  existed. 

In  the  order  of  chronology  it  is  the  Elizabeth  Islands  that 
should  be  the  first  mentioned,  since  it  was  there  that  the  bold 
attempt  to  found  in  New  England  a  colony  of  Europeans  was 
made.  One  cannot  forbear  a  smile  at  its  futihty.  Vaguely  con- 
ceived, not  half  matured,  and  feebly  executed,  it  was  abandoned, 
as  so  many  enterprises  of  "  great  pith  and  moment "  have  been, 
in  the  very  hour  that  should  most  fully  test  the  mettle  of  those 
who  were  conducting  it ;  and  it  is  now  memorable  only  because 
it  was. the  first  serious  endeavor  to  naturalize  Englishmen  upon 
the  soil.  Yet  although  these  men  left  only  a  perishable  foot- 
print behind  them,  they  did  bestow  enduring  names  upon  the 
various  capes  and  headlands  that  successively  rose  out  of  the 
sea  to  greet  them.     So  far  as  is  known,  however,  not  one  is  a 


442 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


memento  of  themselves ;  nevertheless  it  is  these  names  thrown 
at  random  in  passing  which  has  rendered  the  voyage  of  Captain 

Bartholomew  Gos- 
nold  a  fact  worth 
preserving ;  other- 
\\  i&e  it  is  a  cipher. 
In  the  whole 
company  who    set 


CUTTYHUNK 


wliom  but  twelve,  the  Apostolic  number,  purposed  remaining  in 
the  country  as  actual  settlers.  It  would  be  difficult  to  conceive 
of  an  empire  with  its  millions  dating  its  origin  from  this  hand- 


NANTUCKET   LEGENDS.  443 

ful,  had  they  been  the  fortunate  ones  to  leave  us  the  duty  of 
inscribing  their  names  at  the  head  of  the  illustrious  roll  of 
founders ;  but  their  personality  having  no  greater  substance  than 
their  enterprise,  they,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  -whose  names 
the  care  of  Hakluyt  has  preserved,  have  all  vanished. 

From  Falmouth,  then,  on  the  25th  of  March,  1 602,  the  "  Con- 
cord "  put  to  sea.     On  the  14th  of  May,  the  day  being  Friday, 

—  mark  that,  ye  superstitious  mariners !  —  Gosnold  had  in  view 
the  lumpy  coast  of  New  England,  stretching  from  Agamenticus 
to  Cape  Ann  ;  and  presently,  to  the  great  wonder  of  all  on  board 

—  for  these  English  could  not  believe  that  any  had  preceded 
them  here,  —  they  fell  in  with  a  Basque  shallop,  manned  by  eight 
tawny,  black-haired  natives,  who  could  speak  a  few  English 
words  intelligibly,  and  could  name  Placentia,  in  Newfoundland. 
It  seemed  that  these  savages  had  communicated  with  the  French 
there.  This  encounter  could  not  but  cheapen  Gosuold's  esti- 
mate of  himself  as  a  discoverer  in  unknown  seas,  —  for  that  role 
he  was  fully  a  century  too  late.  But  having  thus  got  hold  of 
the  land,  Gosnold  now  put  his  helm  to  starboard,  and  steer- 
ing soutliward  into  the  Bay,  and  keeping  good  watch,  found 
himself  brought  to  by  the  bended  forearm  of  the  great  sand- 
spit  to  which  he  gave  the  name  of  Cape  Cod.  He  continued 
cautiously  working  his  way  along  the  south  coast,  shortening 
sail  at  night,  until  he  was  again  embayed  within  the  chain  of 
islands  extending  between  Buzzard's  Bay  and  the  open  sea,  — 
a  broken,  but  still  magnificent  barrier.  One  of  these  he  called 
Martha's  Vineyard,  thinking  so  little  of  the  matter  that  he  left 
nothing  to  satisfy  the  curiosity  of  another  age  respecting  the 
person  he  had  meant  to  honor,  either  in  token  of  remembrance, 
or  perhaps  as  a  gage  d' amour.  The  knowledge,  therefore,  died 
with  the  giver ;  and  so  Martha's  Vineyard  remains  a  monument 
with  an  incomplete  inscription  which  nobody  is  able  to  complete. 

Eleven  days  after  sighting  the  coast  the  adventurers  landed  up- 
on Cuttyhunk  Island,  to  which  Gosnold  gave  the  name  of  Eliza- 
beth, the  Queen,  —  a  name  that  has  since  been  applied  to  the 
whole  group.     They  decided  to  make  this  island  their  residence. 


444  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Having  great  fear  of  the  savages,  Gosnold's  men  set  to  work 
building  a  fort,  in  which  tliey  dwelt  until  they  had  procured 
a  cargo  of  sassafras  for  their  ship,  when  they  hurriedly  de- 
camped and  set  sail  for  England ;  but  upon  the  grand  scheme  of 
colonization  of  which  this  was  to  be  the  entering  wedge,  this 
voyage  had  no  further  result  than  to  act  as  a  spur  to  the 
lords-proprietors,  who  impoverished  themselves  in  fruitless 
efforts,  xintil  the  year  1620  of  happy  memory  showed  them 
what  might  be  done  without  other  resources  than  courage,  per- 
sistency, and  a  firm  reliance  on  the  assistance  of  Heaven. 

Gosnold  also  saw  and  named  the  remarkable  promontory  of 
Gay  Head,  —  probably  so  called  from  its  brilliant  and  variegated 
coloring  when  the  sun  shone  full  upon  it.  The  structure  of  this 
lofty  headland  bears  upon  it  certain  evidences  of  its  volcanic 
origin.  Four  or  five  craters  are  more  or  less  distinctly  traced. 
The  most  ancient  of  these,  long  since  overgrown  with  grass,  and 
called  the  Devil's  Den,  measures  twenty  rods  across  at  the  top^ 
fourteen  at  the  bottom,  and  is  one  hundred  and  thirty  feet  deep 
at  the  sides,  except  upon  the  one  next  the  sea,  which  is  open. 
The  most  fantastic  stories  continued  to  pass  current  respecting 
this  wizard  spot  until  the  beginning  of  the  present  century  ;  for 
here,  as  fame  reports,  was  one  of  the  residences  of  ^laushope,  the 
Indian  giant,  the  tutelary  genius  of  all  the  tribes  inhabiting  these 
islands,  as  well  as  the  adjacent  mainland  of  Cape  Cod.  Like 
Fingal,  Maushope  was  in  the  habit  of  wading  across  the  Sound 
when  the  humor  took  possession  of  him.  Here  he  broiled  the 
whale  on  coals  made  from  the  largest  trees,  which  he  pulled  up 
by  the  roots.  After  separating  IS^o-man's  Land  from  Gay  Head, 
metamorphosing  his  children  into  fishes,  and  throwing  his  wife 
on  Seconnet  Point,  where  she  now  lies,  a  misshapen  rock,  he 
broke  up  housekeeping  and  left  for  parts  unknown. 

The  fishermen  used  to  say  that  it  was  a  common  thing  to  see  a 
light  upon  Gay  Head  in  the  night-time,  and  it  was  handed  down 
as  a  matter  undisputed  among  them  that  the  whalemen  were  in 

the  habit  of  guiding  themselves  at  night  by  the  lights  that  were 

seen  glancing  upon  Gay  Head.     When  they  appeared  flickering 


NANTUCKET    LEGENDS.  445 

in  the  darkness  the  sailors  would  say,  "  Old  Maushope  is  at  it 
again  ! "  But  the  beacon-lights  were  held  to  be  friendly  ones  ; 
for,  like  the  stars,  they  showed  the  belated  mariner  what  course 
to  steer.  The  sea  has  encroached  greatly  upon  the  clay  cliffs 
in  the  course  of  centuries.  The  harmless  descendants  of  the 
warlike  race  still  inhabit  the  place  ;  but  the  light  of  a  powerful 
Fresnel  shining  from  a  massive  tower  has  superseded  the  mid- 
night orgies  of  the  wandering  Maushope. 

Like  the  Eastern  wizards,  Maushope  was  capable  of  raising 
mists  whenever  he  wished ;  but  that  his  was  wholly  an  original 
method  will  appear  from  the  following  traditional  account  of  the 
discovery  of  Nantucket,  which  is  presented  verbatim. 

"  In  former  times,  a  great  many  moons  ago,  a  bml,  extraordinary 
for  its  size,  used  often  to  visit  the  south  shore  of  Cape  Cod  and  carry 
from  tbence  in  its  talons  a  vast  number  of  small  children.     Mau- 
shope, who  was  an  Indian  giant,  as  fame  reports,  resided  m  these 
parts  '    Enraged  at  the  havoc  among  the  children,  he  on  a  certam 
time  waded  into  the  sea  in  pursuit  of  the  bird,  till  he  had  crossed  the 
Sound  and  reached  Nantucket.     Before  Manshope  forded  the  Sound 
the  island  was  unknown  to  the  red  men.    Maushope  found  the  bones 
of  the  children  in  a  heap  under  a  large  tree.     He  then,  wishing  to 
smoke  a  pipe,  ransacked  the  island  for  tobacco  ;  but  finding  none,  he 
filled  his  pipe  with  poke,-a  weed  which  the  Indians  sometimes  used 
as  a  substitute.     Ever  since  the  above  memorable  events  iogs  have 
been  frenuent  at  Nantucket  and  on  the  Cape.     In  allusion  to  this 
tradition,  when  the  aborigines  observed  a  fog  rising,  they  would  say, 
'There   comes   old  Maushope's  smoke!'      This  tradition  has  been 
related  in  another  way  :  that  an  eagle  having  seized  and  carried  off 
a  papoose,  the  parents  followed  him  in  their  canoe  till  they  came  to 
Nantucket,  where  they  found  the  bones  of  their  child  dropped  by 
the  ea-le.      There  is  another  Indian  tradition,  that  Nantucket  ^^^s 
formed  by  Maushope  by  emptying  the  ashes  from  his  pipe  after  he 
had  done  smoking.     The  two  tribes  on  the  island  were  hostile  to 
each  other.     Tradition  has  preserved  a  pleasing  instance  of  the  power 
of  love.     The  western  tribe  having  determined  to  surprise  and  attack 
the  eastern  tribe,  a  young  man  of  the  former,  whose  mistress  belonged 
to  the  latter,  being  anxious  for  her  safety,  as  soon  as  he  was  concealed 
by  the  shades  of  night,  ran  to  the  beach,  flew  along  the  shore  below 


446  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

the  limit  of  high  water,  saw  his  mistress  a  moment,  gave  the  alarm, 
and  returned  by  the  same  route  before  daybreak  ;  the  rising  tide 
washed  away  the  traces  of  his  feet.  The  next  morning  he  accom- 
panied the  other  warriors  of  the  tribe  to  the  attack  :  the  enemy  was 
found  prepared,  and  no  impression  could  be  made  on  them.  He 
remained  undetected  till,  several  years  after,  peace  being  restored 
between  the  two  tribes,  and  the  young  man  having  married  the  girl, 
the  truth  came  to  light." 

We  have  elsewhere  related  the  circumstance  that  led  to  the 
settlement  of  Nantucket  by  the  whites.  The  Quaker  element 
lone  continued  to  be  the  dominant  one  in  the  social  life  of  the 
island,  as  well  as  of  its  religion  and  government.  Here,  free  from 
persecution,  these  much-abused  followers  of  GeoTge  Fox  were 
supposed  to  have  found  their  Arcadia.  They  established  a  pa- 
triarchal government.  In.stead  of  laws,  they  had  usages  which 
were  obeyed  as  laws.  It  was  nearly  the  happy  ideal  condition, 
where  men  live  without  quarrels,  without  crime,  and  without 
the  enforcement  of  law.  They  Avere  husbandmen  and  shepherds. 
They  fished,  planted,  and  traded  in  peace.  Although  some  of 
them  amassed  wealth,  everything  about  them  continued  to  wear 
the  appearance  of  a  primitive  economy ;  they  lived  on  inde- 
pendently and  prosperously.  But  notwithstanding  a  natural 
predilection  for  the  land  —  and  we  can  hardly  think  of  Quakers 
as  making  good  sailors  —  there  was  the  sea  continually  calling, 
continually  asserting  itself,  at  their  doors.  By  a  transition  as- 
curious  as  it  is  absolute,  these  peaceful  shepherds  became  the 
most  noted  sailors  of  our  continent  and  the  most  renowned 
whalemen  of  the  world.  With  this  change  the  native  Indians 
doubtless  had  much  to  do ;  for  in  their  primitive  way  they  too 
were  expert  in  taking  those  monsters  of  the  deep.  The  Xan- 
tucket  whale-fishery  began  in  the  waters  immediately  surround- 
ing the  island,  and  in  boats.  The  whaleman  finished  his  career 
amid  the  Arctic  ice,  where  he  quietly  made  for  himself  a  route 
long  before  Governments  entered  into  the  disastrous  contest 
Avith  King  Frost  in  which  so  many  valuable  lives  have  been 
lost.     Had  there  been  certain  indications  that  wlialcs  were  to  be 


NANTUCKET   LEGENDS.  447 

found  at  the  Pole,  the  Nantucket  whalemen  would  have  dis- 
covered it. 

The  sea-annals  of  J^antucket  are  consequently  very  numer- 
ous ;  and  as  they  chiefly  relate  to  stubborn  conflicts  with  whales, 
they  are  very  interesting.  But  as  we  now  get  our  oil  upon  the 
land,  the  industry  which  brought  Nantucket  into  world-wide 
notice  has  no  longer  any  existence  there.  There  is,  however, 
a  museum,  in  which  are  preserved  many  evidences  to  the  fact, 
in  the  same  manner  that  Salem  preserves  the  memorials  of  her 
departed  East-Indian  trade.  Alas !  one  cannot  but  regret  these 
changes.  The  whale-fishery  gave  to  the  nation  a  race  of  in- 
trepid sailors,  who  might  have  become  at  need  her  defenders  : 
the  petroleum  discovery  has  given  us  some  millionnaires. 

It  is  well  known  that  sailors  are  able  to  discover  their  where- 
abouts, even  in  thick  weather,  by  making  an  examination  of 
the  soundings  that  the  lead  has  brought  up  from  the  bottom. 
Nantucket  skippers,  it  would  seem  from  the  following  ballad,  are 
able  to  go  even  farther  than  this,  and  to  tell  with  their  eyes  shut 
in  what  neighborhood  they  are  :  — 

THE  ALAEMED   SKIPPEE. 

JAMES    T.    FIELDS. 

Many  a  long,  long  year  ago, 

Nantucket  skippers  had  a  plan 
Of  finding  out,  though  "  lying  low," 

How  near  New  York  their  schooners  ran. 

They  greased  the  lead  before  it  fell, 

And  then,  by  sounding  through  the  night. 

Knowing  the  soil  that  stnck,  so  well. 

They  alwaj^s  guessed  their  reckoning  right. 

A  skipper  gray,  whose  eyes  were  dim, 

Could  tell,  by  tasting^  just  the  spot ; 
And  so  below  he  'd  "  dowse  the  glim,"  — 

After,  of  course,  his  "  something  hot." 


448  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

Snug  in  his  berth,  at  eight  o'clock, 
This  ancient  skipper  might  be  found. 

No  matter  how  his  craft  would  rock, 
He  slept  ;  for  skippers'  naps  are  sound  1 

The  watch  on  deck  would  now  and  then 
Eun  down  and  wake  him,  with  the  lead  ; 

He  'd  up  and  taste,  and  tell  the  men 
How  many  miles  they  went  ahead. 

One  night  't  was  Jotham  Marden's  watch, 
A  curious  wag,  —  the  pedler's  son  ; 

And  so  he  mused  (the  wanton  wretch !)  : 
"  To-night  I  '11  have  a  grain  of  fun ! 

"  We  're  all  a  set  of  stupid  fools 

To  think  the  skipper  knows  by  tasting 

What  ground  he 's  on,  —  Nantucket  schools 
Don't  teach  such  stuff,  with  all  their  basting 

And  so  he  took  the  well-greased  lead 
And  rubbed  it  o'er  a  box  of  earth 

That  stood  on  deck,  —  a  parsnip-bed  ; 
And  then  he  sought  the  skipper's  berth. 

*'  Where  are  we  now,  sir  ?     Please  to  taste." 
The  skipper  yawTied,  put  out  his  tongue ; 

Then  oped  his  eyes  in  wondrous  haste, 
And  then  upon  the  floor  he  sprung ! 

The  skipper  stormed  and  tore  his  hair, 

Thrust  on  his  boots,  and  roared  to  Marden  : 

"  Nantucket 's  sunk,  and  here  we  are 
Right  over  old  Marm  HacketVs  garden  ! " 


^ 


THE  UNKNOWN  CHAMPION.  449 


THE    UNKNOWN    CHAMPION. 

WHEN  Charles  I.  was  about  to  lay  his  royal  head  upon  the 
block,  he  took  his  St.  George  from  his  neck  and  handed 
it  to  Bishop  Juxon,  saying  as  he  did  so,  "  Remember  !  "  This 
was  the  last  word  uttered  by  the  royal  martyr;  for  a  moment 
later  the  axe  fell.  According  to  Hume,  after  the  execution  was 
over,  the  Council  of  State  called  Juxon  before  them,  and  de- 
manded to  know  what  this  command  of  the  King  signified. 
Juxon  replied  that  on  the  day  before  his  death  the  King  had 
expressly  recommended  to  him  to  convey  to- his  sou,  should  that 
son  ever  ascend  the  throne,  his  wish  that  his  murderers  might 
be  pardoned ;  and  that  it  was  his  own  promise,  then  given,  that 
the  King  had  recalled  when  handing  him  his  St.  George,  —  des- 
tined to  be  placed  in  his  son's  hands.  The  following  story  is  an 
example  of  the  memory  of  kings  and  of  the  filial  obedience  of 
Charles  II. 

We  now  enter  upon  one  of  those  romantic  episodes  belong- 
ing to  the  heroic  age  of  our  history  and  embodying  its  true 
spirit. 

The  history  of  the  tradition  is  briefly  this.  It  originated  in 
the  family  of  Governor  Leverett,  who  ruled  over  the  destinies  of 
the  Bay  Colony  during  its  desperate  struggle  with  King  Philip, 
and  it  has  first  a  permanent  record  in  the  pages  of  Hutchinson, 
who  had  in  his  possession,  when  he  wrote,  the  original  manuscript 
diary  and  many  other  of  the  private  papers  belonging  to  the  fugi- 
tive regicide.  Colonel  WilHani  Goffe,  the  hero  of  the  traditional 
story. 

There  are,  it  is  true,  some  zealous  antiquaries  who  do  not 
hesitate  to  characterize  the  story  as  a  romance  pure  and  simple ; 
but  as  they  have  only  succeeded  at  the  most  in  involving  it  in 
doubt,  a  tradition  possessing  sufficient  vitality  to  live  unchal- 
lenged for  so  long  a  period  as  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  may  well 
29 


450  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

be  entitled  to  have  the  benefit  of  that  doubt.  Truth  above  all 
things ;  but  before  treating  one  of  our  most  valued  traditions  as 
an  impostor,  conclusive  evidence  to  the  imposition  becomes  a 
logical  necessity  to  the  framers  of  the  indictment.  They  cer- 
tainly ought  not  to  come  into  court  without  a  clear  case. 

Adhuc  subjudice  lis  est.  "Without  joining  in  the  discussion 
here,  let  us  perform  a  more  gracious  duty,  and  tell  the  story  as  it 
was  always  told  and  believed  before  its  credibility  was  called  in 
question. 

In  the  month  of  October,  IGG-i,  feeling  no  longer  safe  in  their 
retreat  at  New  Haven,  Gofife  and  Whalley  fled  up  the  valley  to 
Hadley,  which  was  then  one  of  the  remote  frontier  plantations. 
Every  precaution  was  taken  to  render  the  journey  a  profound 
secret.  Upon  arriving  there  they  were  hospitably  received,  given 
shelter,  and  carefully  guarded  from  all  intrusion  upon  their  priv- 
acy by  the  minister  of  the  place,  the  Eeverend  John  Eussell,  — 
whose  house  thenceforth  became  their  abode  for  fifteen  or  sixteen 
years,  until  death  released  one  of  them  forever  from  the  enmity 
of  men  and  kings.  Only  a  few,  whose  tidelity  could  be  depended 
upon,  were  admitted  into  the  secret;  and  for  greater  security 
it  was  given  out  that  the  regicides  had  fled  to  New  York,  with 
the  purpose  of  again  crossing  the  seas  and  taking  refuge  in 
Holland. 

Behold  these  two  outcasts,  behind  whom  "  stalked  the  heads- 
man," finally  immured  within  the  four  walls  of  an  humble  fron- 
tier dwelling,  like  men  who  have  forever  taken  leave  of  the  world 
and  its  concerns,  but  whom  the  world  still  vindictively  pursues. 
The  same  ruthless  spirit  of  revenge  that  had  violated  the  senseless 
bodies  of  Cromwell  and  Ireton  was  now  abroad  in  New  England  ; 
and  her  people,  willing  though  they  might  be,  dared  not  openly 
resist  the  hard  logic  of  events.  That  spirit  was  the  vengeance 
of  a  king ;  that  logic,  the  restoration  of  Charles  Stuart  to  the 
throne. 

Eleven  years  had  rolled  over  the  heads  of  the  exiles.  One  by 
one  their  hopes  had  fallen  to  the  ground  and  withered  away. 
Whalley  had  become  decrepit;  Goffe  indeed  retained  some  of 


THE   UNKNOWN   CHAMPION.  451 

the  old  fire  he  had  shown  when,  at  the  head  of  Cromwell's 
Ironsides,  he  charged  at  Dunbar,  and  turned  the  doubtful  issue 
of  that  glorious  day.     This  brings  us  to  the  year  1675. 

The  year  1675  ushered  in  the  gigantic  struggle  with  PhiUp, 
the  great  Narragansett  chieftain.  Never  before  had  such  a  storm 
of  war  assailed  poor  New  England.  Calamity  followed  calamity. 
An  adversary  who  concentrated  in  his  own  athletic  person  all 
the  hatred,  the  subtlety,  the  thirst  for  vengeance  of  his  race, 
suddenly  rose,  the  majestic  and  fateful  figure  of  the  hour.  Philip, 
Kincr  of  Pokanoket,  had  proclaimed  war,— war  in  its  most  terri- 
ble Aspect,  — war  to  the  knife.  Philip  the  leader  had  aroused 
his  people  from  their  deadly  lethargy  of  forty  years  to  make  one 
last,  one  supreme  ettbrt.  It  was  now  a  struggle  for  life  or 
death,  and  as  such  had  to  be  met. 

The  menaced  Colonies  hastened  to  put  forth  their  utmost 
efi'orts  in  order  to  meet  the  emergency,  whose  gravity  increased 
every  hour.  A  general  insurrection  of  all  the  tribes  was  Philip's 
hope  and  New  England's  fear.  John  Leverett,  a  soldier  of 
Cromwell,  was  then  at  the  head  of  affairs ;  and  he,  rising  to  the 
crisis,  now  showed  all  the  energy  that  might  be  expected  from 
a  scholar  who  had  served  his  apprenticeship  under  so  able  a 
master.  But  at  first  the  scale  of  victory  inclined  heavdy  m 
Philip's  favor.  Instead  of  combats  we  read  only  of  massacres  ; 
instead  of  victories,  the  record  shows  disaster  upon  disaster. 

Driven  at  length  from  his  own  stronghold,  Philip,  at  the 
head  of  a  small  band  of  his  warriors,  retired  into  the  heart 
of  the  Nipmuck  Countrv,  which  then  extended,  a  wilderness  of 
swamps,  thickets,  and  mountain-defiles,  between  the  seaboard 
settlements  and  those  lying  in  the  lovely  Connecticut  Valley. 
A  single  road  traversed  it.  A  solitary  outpost,  around  which 
a  feelDle  settlement  had  grown  up,  was  planted  m  the  midst 
of  this  solitude;  this  was  Brooktield. 

The  sanguinary  struggle  was  here  renewed;  and  here  some  of 
the  best  blood  in  the  Colony  was  uselessly  shed.  Upon  this 
isolated  post  Philip's  confederates,  the  crafty  Nipmucks,  fell 
with  fury.     Soon  after  this  they  were  joined  by  Philip  m  per- 


452  NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 

SOU.  He  now  aimed  at  nothing  less  than  the  total  destruction  of 
the  isolated  valley-settlements.  The  Colonial  forces  that  had 
been  sent  for  the  relief  of  Brookfield,  after  suffering  severely  in 
several  bloody  encounters,  succeeded  in  driving  the  exasperated 
enemy  back  upon  the  Connecticut  settlements,  Avhich  thus 
speedily  became  the  battle-ground  of  the  combatants.  Here, 
alas !  the  bones  of  many  a  stout  soldier  moulder  in  unknown 
graves. 

There  were  several  tribes  living  at  peace  with  the  whites  in 
this  valley  whom  the  news  of  Philip's  successes  now  threw 
into  a  fever  of  excitement ;  his  agents  did  the  rest.  These  tribes 
had  received  his  wampum,  and  were  secretly  sharpening  their 
hatchets.  The  white  people,  taking  the  alarm,  and  being  more- 
over Avarned  of  what  they  might  presently  expect  from  such 
dangerous  neighbors,  attempted  to  disarm  them ;  but  the  attempt 
resulted  in  these  Indians  going  over  to  Philip  in  a  body.  They 
were  pursued,  overtaken,  and  brought  to  bay  near  Sugar-Loaf 
Mountain,  in  Deertield  ;  but  they  succeeded  after  a  sharp  fight 
in  making  good  their  retreat.  This  occurred  on  the  2oth  of 
August. 

On  the  27th  the  English  were  defeated  at  Xorthfield,  and  fled 
in  confusion  back  as  far  as  Hadley  before  they  rallied  again. 
On  the  1st  day  of  September  the  enemy  made  a  bold  onslaught 
upon  Deerfield,  and  nearly  destroyed  the  whole  settlement. 
Thus  for  a  whole  week  the  inhabitants  of  this  part  of  the 
valley  had  been  constantly  harried  and  beset.  With  the  enemy 
always  at  their  doors;  with  the  war-whoop  sounding  hourly 
in  their  ears ;  with  the  hurrying  to  and  fro  of  armed  men  and  of 
fugitives,  —  one  does  not  ask  whether  the  inhabitants  were  in  a 
state  of  perpetual  alarm. 

Such  was  the  condition  of  the  little  community,  among  whom 
the  regicides  lay  concealed,  on  the  1st  of  September,  1G75. 
Their  lives  were  now  doubly  threatened. 

We  will  now  let  an  eminent  historian  and  novelist  take  up 
the  narrative.  The  dramatic  power  of  the  simple  incident 
needed  no  attempt  at  embellishment,  and  none  is  made. 


THE   UNKNOWN    CHAMPION. 


453 


In  Sir  Walter  Scott's  "  Peveril  of  the  Peak "  Bridgenorth 
relates  this  story  :  — 

"  I  was  by  chance  at  a  small  village  in  the  woods  more  than 
thirty  miles  from  Boston,  and  in  a  situation  exceedingly  lonely,  and 
surrounded  by  thickets.  Nevertheless  there  was  no  idea  of  any  dan- 
ger from  the  Indians  at  that  time  ;  for  men  trusted  in  the  protection  of 
a  considerable  body  of  troops  who  had  taken  the  field  for  the  protec- 
tion of  the  frontiers,  and  who  lay,  or  were  supposed  to  lie,  betwixt 
the  hamlet  and  the  enemy's  country.  But  they  had  to  do  with  a  foe 
whom  the  Devil  himself  had  inspired  with  cunning  and  cruelty.     It 


GOFFE    KALLYING    THE    SETTLERS. 

was  on  a  Sabbath  morning,  when  we  had  assembled  to  take  sweet 
counsel  in  the  Lord's  house.  ...  An  excellent  worthy,  who  now 
sleeps  in  the  Lord,  Nehemiah  Solsgrace,  had  just  begun  to  wrestle  m 
prayer,  when  a  woman  with  disordered  looks  and  dishevelled  hair 
entered  our  chapel  in  a  distracted  manner,  screaming  incessantly, 
'The  Indians!  The  Indians!'  In  that  land  no  man  dare  separate 
himself  from  his  means  of  defence;  and  whether  in  the  city  or  in  the 
field,  in  the  ploughed  land  or  in  the  forest,  men  keep  beside  them 
their  weapons,  as  did  the  Jews  at  the  rebuilding  of  the  Temple.  So 
we  sallied  forth  with  our  guns  and  pikes,  and  heard  the  war-whoop 


454  NEW-ENGLAND    LEGENDS. 

of  these  incarnate  devils,  already  in  possession  of  a  part  of  the  town. 
...  In  hne,  there  was  much  damage  done  ;  and  although  our  arrival 
and  entrance  into  combat  did  in  some  sort  put  them  back,  yet,  being 
surprised  and  confused,  and  having  no  appointed  leader  of  our  band, 
the  devilish  enemy  shot  hard  at  us,  and  had  some  advantage.  ...  In 
this  state  of  confusion,  and  while  we  were  about  to  adopt  the  desper- 
ate project  of  evacuating  the  village,  and,  placing  the  women  and 
children  in  the  centre,  of  attempting  a  retreat  to  the  nearest  settle- 
ment, it  pleased  Heaven  to  send  us  unexpected  assistance.  A  tall 
man,  of  reverend  appearance,  whom  no  one  of  us  had  ever  seen  be- 
fore, suddenly  was  in  the  midst  of  us  as  we  hastily  agitated  the  reso- 
lution of  retreating.  His  garments  were  of  the  skin  of  the  elk,  and 
he  wore  sword  and  carried  gun  :  I  never  saw  anything  more  august 
than  his  features,  overshadowed  by  locks  of  gray  hair,  which  mingled 
with  a  long  beard  of  the  same  color.  '  Men  and  brethren,'  he  said,  in  a 
voice  like  that  which  turns  back  the  flight,  '  why  sink  your  hearts  ? 
and  why  are  you  thus  disquieted  ]  Fear  ye  that  the  God  we  serve  will 
give  ye  up  to  yonder  heathen  dogs  ?  Follow  me  ;  and  ye  shall  see 
that  this  day  there  is  a  captain  in  Israel ! '  He  uttered  a  few  brief 
but  distinct  orders,  in  the  tone  of  one  who  was  accustomed  to  com- 
mand; and  such  was  the  influence  of  his  appearance,  his  mien,  his 
language,  and  his  presence  of  mind,  that  he  was  implicitly  obeyed  by 
men  who  had  never  seen  him  until  that  moment.  We  were  hastily 
divided  by  his  orders  into  two  bodies,  —  one  of  which  maintained  the 
defence  of  the  village  with  more  courage  than  ever,  convinced  that 
the  unknown  was  sent  by  God  to  our  rescue.  At  his  command  they 
assumed  the  best  and  most  sheltered  positions  for  exchanging  their 
deadly  fire  with  the  Indians  ;  while  under  cover  of  the  smoke  the 
stranger  sallied  from  the  town  at  the  head  of  the  other  division  of 
the  New-England  men,  and  fetching  a  circuit,  attacked  the  red 
warriors  in  the  rear.  The  surprise,  as  is  usual  among  Indians,  had 
complete  effect ;  for  they  doubted  not  that  they  were  assailed  in  their 
turn,  and  placed  betwixt  two  hostile  parties  by  the  return  of  a 
detachment  from  the  provincial  army.  The  heathens  fled  in  confu- 
sion, abandoning  the  half-won  village,  and  leaving  l)ehind  them  such 
a  number  of  their  warriors  that  the  tribe  hath  never  recovered  their 
loss.  Never  shall  I  forget  the  figure  of  our  venerable  leader,  when 
our  men,  and  not  they  only,  but  the  women  and  children  of  the  vil- 
lage, rescued  from  the  tomahawk  and  seal  ping-knife,  stood  crowded 
around  him,  yet  scarce  venturing  to  approach  his   person,  and  more 


THE   UNKNOWN   CHAMPION.  455 

minded,  perhaps,  to  worship  him  as  a  descended  angel  than  to  thank 
him  as'  a  feUow-mortal.  '  Not  unto  me  be  the  glory,'  he  said  ;  '  I 
am  but  an  implement  frail  as  yourselves  in  the  hand  of  Him  who 
is  strong  to  deliver.  Bring  me  a  cup  of  water,  that  I  may  allay  my 
parched  thirst  ere  I  essay  the  task  of  offering  thanks  where  they  are 
most  due.'  Siirking  on  his  knees,  and  signing  us  to  obey  him,  he 
poured  forth  a  strong  and  energetic  thanksgiving  for  the  turning  back 
of  the  battle,  which,  pronounced  with  a  voice  loud  and  clear  as  a  war- 
trumpet,  thrilled  through  the  joints  and  marrow  of  the  hearers.  .  .  . 
He  was  silent  :  and  for  a  brief  space  we  remained  with  our  faces  bent 
to  the  earth,  no  man  daring  to  lift  his  head.  At  length  we  looked 
up  ;  but  our  deliverer  was  no  longer  amongst  us,  nor  was  he  ever 
again  seen  in  the  laud  which  he  had  rescued." 

To  this  faithful  rendering  of  the  tradition  from  the  matchless 
pen  of  the  Wizard  of  the  North  is  pendant  Southey's  unfin- 
ished poem  of  ''Oliver  I^ewman,"  — a  work  intended  to  realize 
this  author's  long-meditated  purpose  of  writing  an  Anglo-Amer- 
ican epic.  The  story  of  Goffe's  appearance  among  the  panic- 
stricken  settlers  at  Hadley  so  strongly  impressed  him,  that  he 
determined  to  make  it  the  main  incident  of  an  historical  poem, 
which,  unfortunately  for  the  world,  never  advanced  heyond  the 
first  stages  of  development.  The  characters  are  introduced,  and 
the  actimi  begins,  —  when  the  curtain  falls,  leaving  us,  indeed, 
with  the  programme  in  our  hands,  in  the  form  of  notes,  hut  with 
the  sense  of  irreparable  loss  to  us  and  to  our  historic  annals.  As 
if  to  compel  the  admiration  due  to  genius,  Southey  makes  one  of 
the  despised  sect  of  Quakers  his  hero,  who,  from  a  double  sense 
of  duty  and  filial  love,  has  crossed  the  ocean  in  search  of  his 
proscribed  and  fugitive  parent. 

This  remarkable  tradition  did  not  escape  the  quick  recogni- 
tion of  our  own  master  of  romance.  It  is  accordingly  the  sub- 
ject of  one  of  Hawthorne's  earliest  tales,  entitled  "  The  Gray 
Champion."  It  is  true  that  the  action  is  transferred  to  Boston, 
that  the  time  is  brought  forward  ten  years,  and  that  the  author 
seeks  to  produce  a  moral  rather  than  a  physical  effect  in  his 
climax.     But  the  incident  is  still  the  same.     The  Gray  Cliani- 


456 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


pion  who  suddenly  confronts  Sir  Edmund  Andros  and  his  re- 
tinue in  the  streets  of  Boston  and  bids  them  "stand,"  is  no 
otlier  than  the  fugitive  regicide  ;  and  his  purpose  is  still  to  exalt 
the  spirit  of  the  people  by  the  timely  display  of  the  superiority 
of  moral  over  mere  physical  power  on  the  side  of  the  rightful 
cause.     Such  is  the  tradition. 

Dr.  D wight  relates  that  Mr.  Eussell's  house  had  been  pulled 
down  some  years  previous  to  his  visit  to  the  spot  in  1796,  but 


GRAVES   OF   THE    REGICIDES,  NEW   HAVEN. 


that  Mr.  ( laylord,  the  owner  of  tlie  estate,  gave;  him  tlie  following 
fact  concerning  it.  When  the  workmen  were  demolishing  the 
building  they  discovered,  just  outside  the  cellar  wall,  a  crypt 
built  of  solid  masonry  and  covered  with  hewn  flagstones. 
Within  this  tomb  were  found  the  bones  of  Whalley.  After 
Whalley's  death  Goflfe  quitted  Hadley,  living  sometimes  in  one 
place  and  sometimes  in  another,  under  various  disguises  and 
aliases  that  have  given  rise  to  other  legendary  tales  concerning 
him  or  the  places  that  became  his  asylum. 

By  a  hyperbole,  exaggerated  perhaps,  but  still  pardonable  in 
a  people  who  traced  everything  in  man  or  nature  to  the  active 
intervention  of  the  Most  High,  tlie  unknown  savior  of  Hadley 


THE  UNKNOWN  CHAMPION.  457 

was  long  spoken  of  as  an  angel  sent  for  their  deliverance.  His 
sudden  appearance  among  them,  his  strange  garb  and  speech,  the 
dignity  and  authority  of  his  manner,  and  finally  his  unaccount- 
able disappearance  in  the  moment  of  victory,  may  well  have 
exalted  him  in  their  minds  to  a  supernatural  being.  King 
Charles  wovdd  have  decapitated  the  regicide ;  our  antiquaries 
would  decapitate  both  angel  and  legend  with  as  little  remorse. 
As  the  custodian  of  each,  we  say,  in  the  language  of  the  royal 
martyr  when  upon  the  scaffold,  "  Do  not  touch  the  axe." 


INDEX. 


Adajis,  Samuel,  84. 

AganuMiticiis,  Mount,  331. 

Aa;assiz,  I.ouis,  1.j5. 

Alden,  John,  370. 

Alden,  Rev.  Timothy,  379. 

Anclros,  Lady,  382;  Sir  Edmund,  4-24. 

Anville,  Due  d',  71. 

Arnold    (iovcrnor  Benedict,  398. 

Ashtn.i',  I'llilip,  212. 

Avery,  Jo^eiili,  245 ;  Avery's  Fall,  250. 

Babson,  Ebenezer,  254. 

Barnard,  Rev.  Jf)hn,  207. 

Bellingham,  Riehard,  33,  51. 

Besse,  Joseph,  180. 

Blackbeard,  6G,  350. 

Blackstone,  William,  0,  10. 

Boar's  Ilea.l,  322. 

Boston,   ideal  description  of,  3-6;    in 

1634,  14;  in  1770,  99. 
Bradford,  William.  368. 
Braiuard,  J.  C,  427,  431,  43.5. 
Brav,  John.  119. 
Brewster,  Mar-aret,  57. 
Brock,  Rev.  John,  347. 
Brown,  Rev.  Arthur,  341. 
Butter,  Edward,  180. 

Calef,  Robert,  CO. 

Cape  Ann,  description  of,  237. 

Champernowne,  Francis,  357. 

Charter  Oak,  The,  421. 

Cheesman,  Edward,  262. 

(Miilton,  Marv,  380. 

Clifton,  Moi)e,  40. 

Coddiueton,  William,  16,  20,  21. 

Cotfin,  Joshua,  287. 

Cole,  Eunice,  328. 

Conant,  Roger.  167. 

("oolidge,  Corneliusi,  153. 

Corey,' Giles,  194. 

Cotton,  Rev.  John,  13. 

Dana,  R.  H.,  240,  403. 
Davenport,  Rev.  John,  417. 


Davis,  Nicholas,  40. 
Dawes,  William,  84. 
Dexter,  Timothy,  292. 
Dighton  Rock,  395. 
Dimond,  John,  144. 
Double-headed.  Snake,  307. 
Dudley,  Thomas,  137. 
Dungeon  Rock,  134. 
Dyer,  Mary,  30. 

Egg  Rock,  148,  161. 

Eliot,  John,  20,  123. 

Eliot,  William,  246. 

Eliot  Oak,  121. 

Endicott,  John,  41,  44,  51,  170,  180. 

English,  Philip,  176. 

Familist    Controversy  ;     see     Anne 

Hutchinson. 
Fields,  James  T..  240,  265,  447. 
Fillmore,  John,  261. 
Fitch,  Thnma-,  4:!4. 
Frankland,  Sir  Charles  H.,  221. 
Franklin,  Benjamin,  66. 

Gage,  General  Thomas,  81. 

Gallup,  J.ihii.  67. 

Garrison,  WiUiinn  Llovd,  138. 

Goffe,  (■ol,)n.d  William,  449. 

Goldsmith,  llalph,  49. 

Gorges,  Ilohert,  i:.3;  Ferdinan<lo,  331. 

Gosnold,  Barthoh.mew,  442,  443,  444. 

Gould,  Hannah,  303. 

Great  Elm  of  Boston,  35,  69,  105. 

Green  Dragon,  81. 

Hampton,  N.H.,  319. 

Hancock,  John,  84. 

Harraden,  Andrew,  201. 

Hawthorne,  Nathaniel,  163,  169,  172. 

Heartbreak  Hill,  279. 

Hibbins,  Ann,  28. 

Hibbins,  William,  30. 

High  Rock,  141. 

Hill,  Joseph,  431. 


460 


NEW-ENGLAND   LEGENDS. 


Hilton,  Martha,  339. 
HoIIingsworth,    William,     176;     Su- 
sanna, 17G. 
Holmes,  O.  W. ;  see   "Contents." 
Hooper,  Madam,  299. 
House  of  Seven  Gables,  173,  17'4. 
Hubbard,  William,  245,  3G9. 
Hutchinson,  Anne,  11. 
Hutchinson,  William,  12,  14,  15. 
Hutchinson,  Thomas,  18. 

Ipswich,  Mass.,  description  of,  273. 
Ireson,  Benjamin,  227. 

Jaques,  Richard,  301. 
Josselyn,  John,  158. 

Kelley,  E.  G.,  301. 
Kidd,  Captain  Robert,  346. 

Lamb,  Charles,  188. 
Larcom,  Lucy,  242,  267. 
Leverett,  Governor  John,  449,  450. 
Lewis,  Alonzo,  132,  144. 
Longfellow,    H.  W.,    151,   155.      -See 

"Contents." 
Louisburg,  C.B.,  71,  259. 
Low,  Edward,  213. 
Lj-nn,  Mass.,  description  of,  137. 

Macy,  Thomas,  310. 
Main,  Harrv,  274. 
Marble,  IliVam,  135. 
Marblchcad,  description  of,  205. 
Martin,  Michael,  119. 
Mason,  Captain  John,  331. 
Mather,  Cotton,  61,  395,  417. 
Mather,  Increase,  64,  245,  307. 
Maushope,  444,  445. 
Mood}',  Rev.  Joshua,  178. 
Morton,  Thomas,  128,  365. 
Motley,  J.  L.,  152. 
Moulton,  Jonathan,  322. 
Mullins,  Priseilla,  385. 
MuUins,  William,  385. 

Nahant,  description  of,  148. 
Nason,  Elias,  371. 
Newbury,  Mass.,  284. 
Newburvport,  description  of,  284. 
Newport  Mill,  The,  394. 
Nix's  Mate,  66. 
Norman's  Woe,  263. 
Noyes,  Rev.  Nicholas,  174. 

Om>  Elm  of  Newbury,  301. 
Omens,  208,  209. 

Passaconaway,  129,  359. 
Perkins,  Thomas  H.,  153. 


Philip.  King,  414,  451. 
Phips,  Sir  William,  179. 
Piracy,  1-32,  211,  212,  261. 
Pitcher,  Marv,  137.     See  Dimond. 
Pitcher,  Robert,  144. 
Plum  Island,  286. 
Plummer,  Jonathan,  296. 
Pollard,  Anne,  380. 
Poquanum,  153. 
Prescott,  W.  H.,  152, 155, 
Prince,  Rev.  Thomas,  75. 

Quakers,  46,  56, 184,  310.  See  Brews- 
ter; Dyer;  King's  Missive;  Macy, 
etc. 

Rainsboeough,  William,  22-27. 
Redd  (or  Read)  Wilmot,  210. 
Revere,  Paul,  78. 
Robinson,  William,  40,  312. 
Roxburv  Pudding-stone,  111. 
Rule,  Margaret,  62. 
Russell,    Benjamin,   373;     Rev.    Wil- 
liam, 450. 

Saint  Aspenquid,  360. 

Salem,  description  of,  167. 

Salem  Village,  191. 

Scarlet  Letter,  171 ,  172. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  453. 

Sea-serpent,  156. 

Sewall,  Samuel,  57,  304. 

Shattuck,  Samuel,  49,  50,  51. 

Shawmut;  see  Boston. 

Shirley,  William,  73. 

Sigourney,  L.  H. ;  see  "Contents." 

Skeleton  ni  Armor,  397. 

Smith.  Caiilain  John,  153,  243. 

Snilll.rv.    i;,.lKTt,  4.55. 

Sciitlnvick,  Cassandra,  184;  Daniel, 
ISo  ;  Jtisiali,  185;  Laurence,  185; 
Provided,  185. 

Spofford,  Harriet  P.,  286. 

Standish,  Mvles,  .383. 

Stevenson,  j\Iarmaduke,  40,  312. 

Storv,  Joseph,  189. 

Story,  W.  W.,  168. 

Surriage,  Agnes,  223. 

Swampscott,  162. 


.H,  Bavanl,  239. 

er,  Aiillionv.  245. 
er-s  Island."  244. 


Tavi 

Thael 

Thae 

Tiiaxter,  Celia.  :i.'i."). 

T(.])]ian,  Itev.  ChiiMdpher,  308. 

Trimountaiii;  st  c  ImisIou. 

Trumbull.  Uenjaniin,  427,  431. 

Tuckc,  Rev.  Joim,  347. 

Tudor,  Frederick,  153. 


INDEX. 


461 


Underwood,  Francis  H.,  264. 
Uphani,  Rev.  Charles  W.,  260. 
Uriiig,  Captaiu  Nathaniel,  369. 

Vane,  Sir  Henry,  15,  18. 
Veale,  Thomas,  134. 

Waban,  121. 

Wadsworth,  Captain  Jeremiah,  420. 
Waldron,  Richard,  329. 
Walford,  Thomas,  G. 
Walton,  George,  333. 
Wardwell,  Lydia,  56. 
Washington,  George,  117. 
Washington  Elm,  115. 
Wentworth,  Benning,  337. 
Wesson,  Margaret.  2G0. 
Weston,  Thomas,  365. 
Whalley,  Colonel  Edward,  450. 


Wharton,  Edward,  311. 
Wheelwright,  Rev.  John,  13,  18. 
Whitelield,  Rev.  George,  289. 
Whitman,  Elizabeth.  196. 
Whittier,   J.  G.,  1-38,  145,  286. 

"  ( 'oiitents." 
Willis,  N.  P.,  148. 
Wilsun,  Deborah,  56. 
Winnepurkit,  128. 
■  Winslow,  John,  380. 
Winthrop,  John,  J7-21,  240. 


Witcl 

craft,    1611 

170,    188,    210,   2.53, 

2.")!l 

Ste  CaJ 

•1;  ('(irev;  Ilibbius. 

W.,!.', 

tt,  (;(i\'cn 

<>v  K.igcr,  434. 

W.mmI 

iriduc,  1!( 

iijanii}),  69. 

W 1 

worth    S-ii 

lu.l,  370. 

Wnrt 

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University  Press  :  Johu  Wilson  &  Son,  Cambridge. 


THE  WRITINGS  OF  SAMUEL  ADAMS  DRAKE. 

AROUND    THE    HUB. 

A  BOY'S  BOOK  ABOUT  BOSTON. 


Boston  in  1791. 
"Of  the  books  on  Boston,  Mr.  Samuel  Drake's  '  Around  the  Hub '  is 
much  the  best.  The  author  has  written  a  book  about  Boston  -  Boston  m 
Te  old  tL-for  boys.  From  the  days  when-as  the  second  chapter  has  U 
^ .  the  K  tan  hung  up  their  hats  '  in  the  then  small  town  of  Shawmut,  down 
to  its  expansion  int^  the  Boston  of  a  hundred  years  ago  they  were  s.rnng 
imes  indeed,  Mr.  Drake  tells  how  the  first  settlers  m  Boston  managed  to 
sen  with  their  Indian  neighbors.  He  draws  for  us  graphically  accurate 
paures  of  the  old  Puritan  homes  and  customs.  Then  we  get  to  the  time 
^hte  withdrawal  of  the  King's  Charter  caused  ^^^  Bosto..ans  to  r.e  .n 
Irms  and  how  sturdily  thev  stuck  to  their  rights  is  told  m  a  styl  that  qmte 
rur'es  one's  sympathies.  The  history  of  the  American  struggle  for  mde- 
pendence  could  not  be  written  without  the  men  of  ^^^f^^^^^^^^l'^.^'l, 
ground,  and  as  the  narrative  progresses,  we  are  taken  through  the  thick  of 
fl^e  mo  al  and  actual  fighting  until  the  famous  chapter  of  history  gams  a  new 
reLrfrom  the  vivid  style  of  the  narrator.  Although  some  parts  of  he 
book'makx  n  Englishn'an  wince,  it  is  just  the  sort  of  historic  story-telhng 
?o  do  bT>s  real  good.  Capital  illustrations  are  scattered  through  the  volume 
Increasing  the  realism  of  the  old-time  scenes  so  well  depicted.  -  TA. 
London  Bookseller. 

One  volume.     Square  i2mo.     Illustrated.     Price,  $1.50. 

Sold  by  all  Booksellers.      Mailed,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  price, 
by  the  Publishers, 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  Boston. 


THE  WRITINGS  OF  SAMUEL  ADAMS  DRAKE. 


Old  Landmarks  and  Historic  Person- 
ages of  Boston, 

One  Volume.       Square  l2mo.       100  Illustrations.       Price  $2.00. 


Old  Landmarks  and  Historic  Fields 
of  Middlesex. 

One  Volunne.    Square  l2mo.       Fully  Illustrated.       Price  $2.00. 


"Your  Old  Landmarks  of  Boston  is  a  perfect  storehouse  of  information."  — 
Jlenry   W.  Longfellow. 

"I  am  simply  amazed  at  the  extent  and  accuracy  of  its  information." — John 
G.  Palfrey. 

"Historic  Fields  and  Mansions  of  Middlesex  is  a  book  after  my  own  heart."  — 
Jienson  J.  Lossing. 

Sold  by  all  Booksellers.     Mailed,   post-paid,   on    receipt  of  price, 
by  the  Publishers, 

ROBERTS     BROTHERS,     Boston. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  IvIBRARY 


